


His Keeper

by Nana_41175



Series: His Keeper [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012)- Fandom
Genre: Action/Adventure, Anal Sex, Angst, Dogs and cats living together, Drama & Romance, First Loves, Frottage, Going into hiding, Literally And Figuratively, Lots of it, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pining, Pre and Post-Skyfall, Slow Burn, Toys, all the sexytimes, domestic 00Q, fake husbands, handjobs, i promised smut and will be delivering smut, some parts of Spectre thrown in, surprise twist in the end!, that I promise, there will be smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-01-31 17:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 45,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18595720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nana_41175/pseuds/Nana_41175
Summary: **COMPLETE!** Protecting the Quartermaster entails a special set of circumstances, and Q is the last one to know.Excerpt:“Your identity has been compromised,” M said as he leaned forward in his chair, his features grim even as his tone remained even and calm. “I am standing you down from all your duties in Q branch. Kindly hand in all personal computers and devices. I am placing you on administrative leave, effective immediately. You need to disappear for a while, Q, for your own safety. Think of this as the holiday you never had these past two years. We will get down to the bottom of this and repair the damage done; otherwise I shall have to ask you to step down.”Q gaped at him, finally speechless.“At any rate, quartermasters are entitled to double-O agents as bodyguards, when the need arises, and he personally volunteered,” M continued as though he’d not just dropped the equivalent of a bomb and a death sentence through slow torture rolled into one, “and I do agree that under the circumstances, 007 would be the best choice as your bodyguard.”





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to yet another fic. It's 00Q this time. I know, late to the party as usual, but better late than never. Hardly any research done on actual MI6 protocols and not Brit-picked. Please be kind. 
> 
> Teasers are posted every few days after an update and can be found at the end of each chapter. Enjoy!

Of all the double-O’s, he just knew he would have the hardest time dealing with 007. Even among this elite group of agents, staunch patriots and efficient killers all, Bond was a different breed altogether. Everyone knew that. Even M was hard-put to rein him in, and he was one of her favourites. Perhaps this was why 007’s sudden and unexpected demise came at him with an even stronger punch than anticipated.

He was weeks away from his new post when M’s obituary of Commander James Bond, C.M.G., R.N. started to circulate within MI6, leaping from his inbox full of other interdepartmental emails which needed looking into. He sat still, skimming through the message even as a shocked hum rose all around him in Q branch, the news travelling lightning-fast through secure channels to spread across the entire Secret Service. 007, killed in the line of duty in Turkey. There was not even a body to retrieve and to bring back home.

And so that was that, he thought as he felt something deflate within him. He was mere weeks away from meeting Bond along with the other double-O’s— a formal introduction as part of his new job assignation, not just the casual run-ins at Q branch when Bond happened to drop by to get his briefings on new equipment by Major Boothroyd, the soon-to-be former Q. In fact, they didn’t run into each other all that frequently, save that one time.

That one time, when he had been distracted by the data in his tablet as he made his way to the boss’ office, only to stop short and realize he was walking straight toward 007, who had just emerged from a meeting with Boothroyd. He had stepped aside reflexively, wordlessly, tablet clutched to his chest, staring as 007 passed him by, his movements smooth and graceful as a shark gliding under water.

He ought to have said something: at least a greeting, or a dry apology, only his voice had died in his throat when 007 had flicked a glance at him. Those pale blue eyes ought to have been cold…only they weren’t for that small fraction of time when Bond’s gaze had alighted on him. Even without the slight uptilt of his mouth, Bond’s eyes held a lazy, almost indulgent sort of amusement which he had found startling and fascinating in equal measure. Even worse, the smirking glance had been followed by a brief wink.

_A wink._

What in bloody hell?

He’d cast a furtive glance behind him, certain that it had been meant for somebody else— perhaps one of the female technicians hard at work whom Bond was friendly with…

There had been nobody behind him, so he had to arrive at the conclusion that the bastard had meant it for him. By the time he’d turned back to 007, all he could see was the man’s back, broad and powerful, encased in that well-made suit, going, going…gone.

It wasn't even a come-on, not really. That was just how 007 was. He knew better than to take his thoughtless little flirtations to heart, yet looking at the man’s obituary now, he felt almost fond and strangely regretful. He’d been rather looking forward to working with Bond, along with all the challenges that that would have entailed. And now…

Now, he ought to go back to work. But first, a small matter of saving the man’s picture that had accompanied M’s obituary. He would not stop to analyze why he did so, in the same way he would not stop to reason out why he would return time and again in the days that followed to gaze at that extraordinary face, forever framed in hues of black and white and grey.

They were colleagues, after all. Surely it was natural to feel something for 007. Perhaps it was for all that could have been had the man lived. And if he would allow himself a certain bit of sadness for a meeting that was now never to take place between them, who would be the wiser?

It was _not_ as if he had a crush on the man. Oh dear lord, _no._

And so that was that.

Or so Q thought.

* * *

 

Here's the [**teaser**](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/post/184481741616/teaser-for-ch-1-of-my-00q-fic-his-keeper) for the next chapter. Enjoy! Please drop by [**my tumblr**](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com) for updates and teasers, and send the Muse some love there to make her write faster. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes:** Thank you so much for the kudos and comments! They always spur an author to post an update more quickly. Please excuse the short chapters. The Muse is rusty and needs some time to come around. Please drop by [my tumblr](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com) for updates and teasers. Thank you!

* * *

 

The news of 007’s apparent resurrection was handled more discreetly by M, with hardly any fanfare. But then, how else would one handle a revenant except with thick gloves on?

She broke it to him during their weekly one-on-one, after the update on the ongoing investigation into the nature of the cyberattack that had led to the gas explosion within their headquarters. The perpetrators had covered their tracks well, and not even Q could track them down until they struck again. The most that they could do was develop better, more sophisticated safeguards to ensure that there would not be a second time. Q had already put them in place. At this point, M simply slid a piece of paper toward him and said, “Since you’re here, I thought I may as well inform you.”

Q looked down at the missive in front of him. It was very short and took less than a few seconds to read. Still, the contents were nothing short of astonishing.

He raised his eyes from the report and said, “So 007…”

M simply nodded. “Is very much alive, yes,” she said, her tone serene and the lines of her face giving nothing away, as usual: not relief, definitely not joy. She had not shown the slightest sign of distress during the attack on headquarters and, by extension, herself, only a week before. She had only grown colder, tougher, and by doing so, had pulled the entire SIS community together. Given who she was, Q supposed an agent returning from the dead would hardly merit a glimmer of emotion from M. “I will make arrangements for you to meet him once he has been cleared for active duty.”

 “Yes, ma’am.” There was hardly anything else he could say, although he had questions; and judging from the length of M’s missive, it was clear that she was not in possession of all the answers concerning 007. He would have to start digging on his own.

“Oh, and Q,” she called out just as he was about to take his leave.

“Ma’am?”

“Please see to it that 007 is protected from himself, as much as possible,” she said, somewhat cryptically.

In other words, he was being given a free hand to deal with the man as he saw fit.

“Very well, ma’am,” he said.

* * *

 

He was ready when Tanner came by to say, “007 has been cleared for active duty. I take it you’ve received M’s instructions in outfitting him for Shanghai. If the equipment is ready, shall I schedule an appointment for the two of you sometime today for the briefing?”

Q gave a faint hum, not taking his eyes off the giant screen in front of them, fingers flying over the keyboard. Q branch was still in shambles as he’d not yet finished setting up shop. “Not today,” he said. “The equipment will only be ready late in the afternoon and I’ve got 002 and 008 coming by later. Have him meet me for the drop-off at the National Gallery tomorrow, say around 12:30 in the afternoon.”

 Tanner blinked. “The National Gallery?”

Q paused from his work and gave him a small, dry smile. “I thought I might take a lunch break out of the office for once,” he said briefly.

“Of course,” replied Bill, his features efficiently cleared of any lingering surprise. “Where in the Gallery then?”

“The Sackler Room. In front of The Fighting Temeraire.”

He’d adjusted well in the course of his first few months handling the double-O’s, and one of the earliest lessons he’d learned was the value of picking one’s battlegrounds and setting up one’s fights. By choosing the familiar precincts and quiet sanctity of the National Gallery, which was something of a church for him while growing up, Q could ensure that there would be no dreadful scenes and no raised voices, and no minions to witness 007’s reaction to himself. And with the Temeraire, Q was offering a statement of his own for 007, if the man would care to listen.

_That's you, 007. And you have yet to meet me._

* * *

 

007 was already there when Q arrived. He was seated on the bench, his gaze predictably on the painting before him. Excellent. It gave Q time to make his advance unnoticed, and when he sat down beside 007, he was perfectly composed, the very picture of lounging relaxation.

It was good that the painting distracted them from having to look directly at each other, though from the corner of his eye, he could see 007 peering at him suspiciously.

_Do you remember me?_

007 glanced away.

Apparently not, thought Q, smiling inwardly as he felt sweet relief coupled with the slightest disappointment.

_I’m glad that you’ve forgotten the awestruck little minion you’d brushed by. His tongue had been tied then, and to look at him, standing there dumbly as he stared after you, you wouldn’t have supposed him entering Cambridge when he was sixteen, and to have two doctoral degrees under his belt, or be the youngest programmer to design some of the weapons you’ve used and discarded in the field. I’m glad, because that idiot minion was not me. But this is. This is who I am. This is who I wish you to see. So see me now._

Q began, his voice low and his words clear-cut, “it always makes me feel a little melancholy…”

It played out quite beautifully, with everything coming along to Q’s expectations. It was especially delicious to call out to 007 just when he was on the brink of moving away, to have him sit back down with a grunt of realization as to who he was speaking to. Q had geared himself for worse, perhaps a stinging insult or two, but their verbal sparring had turned out to be surprisingly enjoyable, with a glint of humor that was always a saving grace. In the end they managed to establish a semblance of rapport, despite 007 being distinctively unimpressed with the gun and radio handed to him.

His reply had a bit of an eye-roll tucked into it: "Were you expecting an exploding pen? We don't really go in for that anymore." And also, _behave. And I just might show you what I am capable of making for you, in future._

Q had only been given three days by M to prepare, after all. What could he manage at so short notice for a man who'd just come back from the dead? Also, it was his response to M’s request to protect Bond from himself. Or from his own weapon, at the very least. In truth, 007 was hardly in any shape to pursue this mission. He’d come back from his sojourn aged, weariness imprinted on every line of his face even as those startling blue eyes had remained the same. But he’d come back, that was what mattered. Despite his admonition for 007 to return his equipment in one piece, Q was under no illusion that 007’s gun could be wrestled quite easily from him at this stage. Q would make it his hallmark to prioritize the safety of the agents entrusted into his care.

As he took his leave, he heard 007 mutter, “brave new world.”

 _Yes_ , Q silently agreed. _Welcome to my world, Bond. And you’ll never see me again without my armor._

Having wiped the slate clean between them for a fresh start, he strolled out of the National Gallery feeling considerably lighter within and decided he’d take the Tube back to work.

* * *

 

 **[Here's](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/post/184570663701/teaser-for-ch-3-of-my-00q-fic-his-keeper) the teaser** for the next chapter. Enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes:** Oh my goodness, the Muse is on a roll here! You guys have no idea what a miracle that is! She has you guys to thank for the comments and kudos! Just a reminder that I know nothing about computer coding-- that last bit was just picked up from an online article and messed around with. Please drop by [my tumblr](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/) for updates and teasers. Enjoy!

* * *

 Bond wrenched open the door of the safehouse. "Q, I'm in," he said.

"007," the familiar voice came in calm and sure in his earwig. "First door to your right. She can't get very far. Everything is clear for now. 003 managed to throw off her pursuers, but hurry."

"Copy that." Bond did not need to do anything but follow the trail of blood on the floor. Inside the room, 003 was lying on an old mattress stripped of its sheets. There was red all over. She was bleeding out.

"Gunshot wounds, left leg, and right lung has been penetrated," Q pointed out.

"I can see that," Bond ground out as he knelt beside 003. He hoisted her up with gentle hands and pressed his hand to hers on top of the hideous red flower blossoming wetly through her shirt.

She opened her eyes slightly, smiled through her bloodied mouth. "James," she slurred softly.

Bond nodded. "Emily," he said.

She shook her head, breathing labored. "Take..." she ground out and could not continue.

"The ring and the glasses," Q supplied. "Also the gun and earwig."  

Gathering the equipment, 007 understood only too well that there was no way to take her with him.

Bond looked down at the ashen face he'd known for years. He and 003 had shared several missions together. She was-- _ _is__ \--a friend. "Ems..."

"You have to leave, 007," Q cut in. "Possible hostiles moving in."

 003 smiled at Bond wistfully. "Last year...Christmas," she rasped, the words coming out in gasps now. "When I...said don't...be an arse. I take it...back."

Bond stared at her, breathing hard. He had no idea what she was talking about.

"The kiss," she said. "I...we should have just..."

"Ssshh, I got you," said Bond as he moved quickly to press his lips against hers. "You did well, Ems."

"Tell Q...thank you. For staying...with me."

"It was my pleasure," Q replied after a pause into Bond's earwig. His voice never wavered.

"She's gone," said Bond as he made to stand up.

"And so must you," replied Q, his tone turning crisp and efficient once more. "Don on the glasses, 007. All right. Truly no other way out except upstairs. Expect two hostiles at the door in three, two, one..."

Bond raised his gun and fired just as the targets rammed in. "You see what I'm seeing, do you?"

"The stairs, 007. Up you get," reminded Q as Bond emerged from the room and pelted up the stairs. "Third room to your right. There is a small balcony...hold on. Three hostiles coming from your left."

Q waited for 007 to finish them off before smoothly resuming, "head for the back, down the corridor, one more flight of stairs up. Head for the balcony, you can jump to the next building from there... that’s it. Down you go."

Bond ignored the screaming, cowering tenants of the new building as he made for one door after another going down.

"One last hostile in the street before you're clear," recited Q as Bond raced to obey his instructions.

"Video transmitter," said Q as Bond sprinted down the busy street, teeming with vendors and shoppers in downtown Beirut. "The glasses, I mean. Nothing new, really. They livestream whatever you're seeing directly to us. 003 had taken in some interesting faces during her meeting. Mind the ring though, that's what we need to bring back in one piece."

"That's the USB?" replied Bond somewhat incredulously.

"Yes. A modified one. Turn left on the next corner, 007. Rendezvous with Brandon in two minutes."

Bond reached the street just in time to see the black SUV careening toward him, a sweaty Agent Brandon behind the wheel.

"Good," said Q as Bond got into the car. "Head for the designated point as previously agreed. I've arranged your flight out of Beirut-Rafic Hariri via MEA, leaving in 1725 hours."

"Q."

"Yes, 007."

"003..."

"She did very well, and so did you, 007. Have a safe flight home."

Before Bond could say anything else, Q had signed off. 

* * *

 

His debriefing with M was mercifully short. The mission was a success, after all, even when it meant a double-O agent was lost. He and 003 were running parallel missions in Beirut and things had been uneventful on his end, for once, with just the usual carnage involving hostiles and with little injury to himself. Q was forced to reroute him only when 003’s assignment had suddenly and disastrously got out of hand. It was one of the hazards of their job.

His next stop was Q branch, and Bond found himself heaving out a small sigh of relief. This was something to look forward to.

He normally had no reason to drop by in between missions, although that had not stopped him from doing so with increasing regularity in the past few months. But casual visits were one thing; a full debriefing with Q meant he could stay just a bit longer than usual, and it also meant having a little of the Quartermaster’s time for himself.

Dealing with Q was like being given a delightful little puzzle to solve. Bond had never cared for these Millenials, but young as he was, Q was a bit of an old soul deep inside. Apart from his eclectic, preppy fashion choices that suggested an expensive hangover of his uni days,  he possessed that particular gentlemanly charm rarely found outside period dramas anymore, his courtly manner in sharp contrast to his brilliantly ruthless mind attuned to the various intricacies of futuristic, cutting-edge technology-- technology used to kill, and to protect Queen and country. He was liked by his colleagues, and despite the initial wariness and amusement of the double-O’s (of which Bond himself was guilty), he’d managed to have them eating out of his hand by the end of his first month as Quartermaster. That was no small feat.

And yet with Bond, he was more aloof. There was the banter, of course, at times acerbic, other times quite genial, and more than a bit of showing off on both sides. Q was good at keeping things professional though, and no matter how much he would needle him, Bond could not seem to get past the walls that Q had erected around himself. Subtle attempts at flirting-- if Bond could even call it that-- were merely brushed off and ignored; unsubtle ones (such as that time when Bond had called him "Q'ute") were given the dry treatment: “lovely. Now let’s move on to what’s relevant, shall we?”

It was a game that Bond found himself slowly getting addicted to.

Q branch was more quiet than usual, and Q himself was not at his open worktable. Bond was directed to the Cubicle at the end of the long, underground chamber-- technically Q’s office, encased in smart glass, currently opaque.

Q was busy, bent over a keyboard and facing multiple flickering screens when he entered. It took a moment for Q to register Bond’s presence, and when he did, there was not even a quirk of that beautifully shaped, red mouth. Behind the glasses, those bright green eyes were shadowed with fatigue.

His voice sounded the same though: “Returning equipment, 007? Very well. On the table, please.”

He was upset over 003. Of course he was. Among the double-O’s, 003 was the first to warm to him, treating him like a younger brother. She wasn’t the first double-O to die under his watch, though. Even if the deaths had been drastically reduced under his superb guidance and supervision, Q had lost agents in the two years he’d been Quartermaster. That was what the job entailed at times.

As Bond laid out the equipment on the table before him, he said, “She didn’t have any regrets. You know that, don’t you? None of us have.”

“Except that part where the two of you never got to kiss.”

Bond stared at him, but Q was already inspecting the equipment, his head down and features hidden.

“We did,” answered Bond, still remembering the taste of Ems’s blood in his mouth. “You saw it.”

Q hummed, still not looking at him. He picked up the ring, and to Bond’s astonishment, he unsnapped it in two to reveal the USB plug hidden inside. “The state of the equipment is passable this time around, thank you. I’ll log them in. Is there anything else, 007?”

“Dinner,” Bond found himself saying. “If you’re not doing anything later.”

Q was already turning back to his computers. That caught his attention. He stilled and slowly turned back to Bond.

“You look like you’ve not eaten or slept in the past twenty-four hours,” he said. “And if you feel like you need to talk about Emily...”

It was not his smoothest pick-up line, but it was also a very rare thing for Bond to speak his mind outright. What came out of his mouth surprised them both.

He watched Q watching him warily and realized that Q thought he must be joking. There was anger in the forest-green depths of those eyes, boring into him. Then that intense green gaze slid away.

“I appreciate your concern, 007, but as you can see...” Q swept an arm vaguely in the direction of the computers. “I’m wrapping up things and performing a comprehensive sweep of the systems...post-mission standard procedure, you understand. It will take some time.”

“I can wait,” replied Bond, amazed that he was being stubborn about this. Q had not said __no__ , that was a start.

“Don’t hold your breath,” muttered Q. “But thank you all the same, Bond.”

Bond smiled. “A rain check then.”

“Goodbye, 007. I believe you will need to pass by Medical. Don’t let me keep you.” 

* * *

 

When he was finally alone again, Q sank down slowly into his seat. He felt like giving in to the urge to bang his head on the table, childish though it was. So he did, twice, and predictably it did not make things any better.

He was in such deep shit.

It would have been enough to let Bond think he was devastated by 003’s death. He __was.__  But that wasn’t the only thing taking up his time and attention at the moment.

He scanned the computers as they performed the sweep and they were coming up with nothing, nothing, __nothing.__

How was this even possible?

This was what had made him flip, made him babble about that god-forsaken kiss between 003 and 007 and he had absolutely no intention of ever bringing it up. It was nothing to him, for god’s sake.

Christ, what was wrong with him?

 _ _This__ , he thought as he glared at the screens before him. He typed in a new set of commands and watched as the computers came back with nothing.

There was no trace of whoever had sent him the message, embedded in the endless strings of code that made up a malicious intrusion into MI6’s systems that the computers had easily picked up and quarantined in the course of their sweep:

push   ebx

push   esi

call   ds sleep

call   ds:GetSystemDefaultLangID

mov  edi,ds: OutputDebugStringW

push  offset OutputString; “Run, Colin, run!”

movzx   esi,ax

call edi: OutputDebugStringW

push  Offset Name   ;   “003 is dead and you’re next!”

xor   ebx,ebx

push  ebx 　　　；binitialOwner

* * *

 

[Here's](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/post/184643236021/teaser-for-ch-4-of-my-00q-fic-his-keeper) the **teaser** for the next chapter. Enjoy!


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes:** Aand here is the next chapter! Please be reminded that there's hardly any research done on MI6 protocols, so any mistakes in the procedure are my own. Also not Brit-picked for any occasional slips of the tongue. Other than that, I hope you enjoy! Comments are welcome as always.

* * *

 

"Twelve hours," said M, his gaze inscrutable. "I really hope you have a good reason for taking that amount of time to report such an incident to me."

"As I have said, sir," Q replied patiently. "There was no actual breach incurred. Our firewalls are intact, the threat was immediately contained, and I am close to tracking it down. It may be using a more complicated, shifting algorithm, but it's not--"

"You do not appear to understand the gravity of the situation," M cut in, "nor the consequence of your office. They know your _name."_

Q set his mouth in a thin line and tried not to grit his teeth. Of course he was aware of the potential threat to his person, but the main reason why he'd decided to report the incident to M was his concern over the apparent leak of the report of 003's death. The possibility of their operatives' activities being exposed was more concerning to him than anything else.

"Is R working with you on this?"

"Of course, sir."

"Good. I want another report in two hours when you're finished," said M.

"Very well, sir."

* * *

 

He was back in M's office after two hours, but it seemed that M had already made up his mind about the situation regardless of Q's report. On his desk sat a thick file which Q belatedly recognized as his own. Things were not looking good.

"In all your two years heading Q branch, you've not had a real holiday, have you, Q?" queried M as he thumbed through the file. "What will HR think?"

Q smiled thinly. "There were a lot of things to be done in the section," he said, then hastened to add, "but I will make use of the allotted holiday time this year."

"I agree," said M, looking up from the file as he fixed Q with a speculative gaze. "The sooner the better."

Q's shoulders slumped. "Sir--"

"Whether or not you're willing to admit it, we have a credible threat in our hands. I have spoken to R, and it would appear that she can head the branch in your short absence. Kindly start your endorsements as soon as the meeting is finished. What's more, I am assigning 007 to you," said M as he gave a curt nod to signify the interview was over.

"007?" Q felt it then, that curious plunging sensation in his gut as though the rug had been pulled from under him. "With all due respect, sir, don't you think this is a bit of an overreaction? I hardly think we need a double-O agent for this kind of task. Especially not 007."

Before M could get any ideas, Q hastily continued, "it would be a waste for him not to be in the field."

“Overreaction? Your identity has been compromised,” M said as he leaned forward in his chair, his features grim even as his tone remained even and calm. “Until we can determine the extent of the threat, I would rather that we be safe than sorry. Understand, Q, that given your position and level of security clearance, we cannot afford to have anything happen to you. Therefore I am standing you down from all your duties in Q branch. Kindly hand in all personal computers and devices. They will be returned to you as soon as they are cleared for use. I am placing you on administrative leave, effective immediately. You need to disappear for a while, Q, for your own safety. Think of this as the holiday you never had these past two years. We will get down to the bottom of this and repair the damage done; otherwise I shall have to ask you to step down.”

Q gaped at him, finally speechless.

“At any rate, quartermasters are entitled to double-O agents as bodyguards, when the need arises, and he personally volunteered,” M continued as though he’d not just dropped the equivalent of a bomb and a death sentence through slow torture rolled into one, “and I do agree that under the circumstances, 007 would be the best choice as your bodyguard.”

Just then, a knock sounded on the door.

"Good," said M, looking up. "He's here. I have asked 007 to join us. If Ms Moneypenny is done with the mission profile then we can start."

 _Fantastic_ , thought Q witheringly. _Just_ bloody _fantastic._

 

* * *

 

"Wait for me," said M, stepping out briefly to talk to Moneypenny just as Bond sauntered in to take the seat right beside Q. Apart from a small sigh, Q said nothing as he continued to look straight ahead. Somehow his profile seemed to be his default stance when dealing with Bond.

"So," Bond said, settling in. "Colin, is it?"

That earned Bond a slight quirk of that red, expressive mouth. "It's not within your purview to be calling me by any name other than Quartermaster, 007," Q remarked placidly.

Bond's smile only widened. "Is that so?"

"Knowing my first name doesn't count if you don't know my surname, and even if you managed to find that out, what's in a name, especially in our profession? You'll still know next to nothing about me. So you see, we're back to square one," said Q dryly as he tossed Bond a glance that somehow managed to be wearily amused, apologetic and sardonic at the same time. "Sorry, 007, but that's just how it works."

Bond actually laughed at that and even Q smiled a little. The cheeky little pup did have some pluck to him, which was partly the reason why Bond found him so...alluring.

M returned and set two narrow black leather folders on his desk. "I am sure you will excuse the slight delay as we had to formulate the mission quickly," he began.

Bond opened his folder but he already knew what the contents were. He was curious as to what Q would think though.

Q shifted in his seat as he read the opening passage, as though he were trying not to squirm. A secure cottage in a small hamlet near Edinburgh, travel time of seven hours from London by car, one and a half hours by plane. Bond was familiar with the facility, had used it for small missions from time to time.

The second passage elicited a more interesting-- and stark-- reaction from Q. He jerked in his seat as though he'd been slapped, his head snapping up, green eyes wide.

 _"No,"_ Q said, his voice sharp as he abruptly shut his folder. "No. This is...this is complete _rubbish_ , is what this is." Suddenly remembering himself, he added for M's benefit, "I beg your pardon, sir."

"What's wrong with it?" demanded Bond, rather taken aback by Q's vehemence.

"What's wro--?" Q stuttered, eyes wide as he turned his gaze to Bond, his voice quivering with affront. " _Married?_ We're supposed to be a couple here? What sort of nonsense is that? Why is it even necessary?"

"I don't see why that would pose a problem."

Q stared at him in disbelief before realization suddenly struck. _"You,"_ he breathed. "You wrote that in?!"

Bond flicked a glance at M, who sighed. "Agents are allowed their say when they're building their personas for a mission," replied M resignedly, looking for all the world like he'd rather be elsewhere-- anywhere-- except here. "You know that, Q, having designed the details of some of our more well-known missions yourself."

"What about me, then? Don't I get to have a say in the matter?" Q retorted.

"All right," said Bond, his patience wearing thin. "You're the sodding genius here, after all. Do come up with a relationship that will have us living together in a house 24/7 without the neighbors talking."

"I don't see why two men co-habitating would spark any neighborly interest," replied Q coldly.

"Unless it just so happens that we look very much like a dom shacking up with his boy," snapped Bond.

That did the job in stopping whatever smart retort Q had in store for him. Q gawped at him, silenced and utterly horrified, and before he could say a word, M was pushing his intercom button. "I believe these two gentlemen are done here, Miss Moneypenny," he said as he glared at both Bond and Q.

"Sir, if you will hear my report," Q put in a bit desperately before they could be ushered out. "You did ask me to make one."

M sighed and settled back in his seat. "Five minutes," he said, nodding to Moneypenny who closed the door once again.

"R and I have finished running the diagnostics. There was no breach in our security, and I can assure you that my machines and devices have not been compromised. Even if the hacker or hackers have been careful, they've left some clues in their path. There are no foreign traces, therefore whoever sent the threat is much closer to home; it may even be an inside job."

There was a pause as M considered. "Well, that narrows it down considerably but it still does not answer one of our main concerns, which is, how extensive was the leak into your personal details and who is now privy to that information? This all brings us back to the start, and indeed a harder path as we begin an internal investigation. However, this does not argue against your immediate removal from the scene. Far from it."

Q seemed to deflate in his seat.

Bond nodded in agreement. "I don't suppose you have any enemies?" he asked Q. "Some people you've crossed swords with in or out of work, people who dislike or envy you? An ex perhaps?"

"No," said Q shortly, seemingly offended especially by the latter assertion. "And why would anyone envy me?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Bond rather casually. "You only happen to be the youngest Quartermaster in the entire history of MI6, after all, so I suppose some may see that as something to be envious about."

Q was silent for a moment before he said again, more quietly, "no. Everyone at Q branch has been lovely, and we've known each other for years without any incident. R, as you know, is completely reliable. There is Henry Flagen, our chief engineer and weapons specialist, and William Campbell, head of the IT department. There is--"

"Campbell, as in 'Call me W'," Bond sneered, remembering being introduced to the middle-aged Campbell, who had told him exactly that. Needless to say, Bond was not impressed with the man.

Q turned to him. "I know that Bill might appear...expansive at times, but he's a good--"

"Except he wants to be W," interrupted Bond impatiently. "I'd start my investigations with him, if I were you."

"That is a serious allegation," remarked M dryly. "I really do hope you have some solid evidence to back up your claim."

"Call it a hunch," returned Bond icily.

M stared at him before shifting his gaze back to Q. "Good luck, Q," he said rather feelingly. "Start your endorsements with R at Q branch, but there will be no contact with anyone else. Say nothing to her except that I have asked you to take some much-needed downtime. Afterward, 007 will accompany you home so you can pack and retrieve your devices for testing. Do it quickly. Moneypenny will help you with whatever else you and 007 would need for the mission."    

"Sir." Without another word, Q stood up and made for the door. Bond followed.

"Q," he said as he paused by Moneypenny's desk, watching Q head straight for the outer door. "We need to--"

"Not one more word, 007," said Q, his voice harsh.

When he turned around, he was flushed and furious, eyes blazing a fiery emerald behind the glasses and, Jesus bloody Christ, he looked absolutely _gorgeous_.

"I hope you're happy," said Q, his breathing rapid, as were his words. "You and your bloody _games."_

"What are you even implying," said Bond, hackles raised.

"Do you really enjoy it so much, this cat and mouse thing you have going?" returned Q, chest heaving. " _Why_ did you do it, Bond, volunteering for this assignment? If it's just a reaction you want, well, congratulations--"

_Because I like you, goddammit._

"Because you need _protection_ ," growled Bond. Christ, the way this man can strip him of all patience in record time. "In case you haven't figured it out yet, we can't afford to lose you. _You are too important."_

That seemed to check Q's temper, and after an embarrassed glance at a frozen Moneypenny, he said, "I will be finished with R in an hour. Come around Q branch then, I'll need help with some equipment."

Bond watched him go, aware of several realizations coming one after the other about Q, stripped of his self-possession as his cool cover was blown for the first time and in so spectacular a fashion; and however he may treat Bond, he was actually far from unfeeling towards him.

* * *

 

Things only started sinking in when Q was in the car, heading home. Behind the wheel, 007 was cold and distant. Fuming, probably. Good. That made two of them.

How had things come to this? he wondered, not for the first time. Certainly, he'd not expected it, when he left home that morning, that he would be returning one last time.

These things happen, he told himself. Hadn't he envisioned an adventurous career ahead of him when he'd decided to join MI6 instead of the dull and quiet academic life that Cambridge had to offer?

Well, he was in the thick of it now, and he had to fist his hands in his lap to stop the tremors from showing. Beside him, 007 drove, coolly composed, oblivious to the turmoil that roiled within him, and he'd rather that 007 remain that way.

Inside the house at last. He left Bond in the living room while he pulled out the suitcase he'd bought ages ago that he'd barely used. In went his clothes, a week's worth of them, all neatly rolled and folded from shirts to underwear, from trousers to socks, all arranged according to color. Also some suits in their hangers, his coat, shoes. Inside the bathroom, his toiletries and shaving kit. He went about it all on autopilot while deep down inside he could hear a voice saying _oh god, oh god_ over and over.

After depositing his luggage in the car, he came back to the living room to find Bond examining the cat tree stationed in one corner. He did not look pleased.

"They're around somewhere," he said. "Asi and le Carré. Just give me a minute with my laptop--"

"I trust you have a place to put them?" said 007.

"Their cages are in the closet by the front door. I've not had any use for them though," said Q distractedly while his mind raced ahead.

He had to get to his computer without Bond in the way.

He took a breath and said, "would you be so kind--?"

Bond stared at him for a moment before moving away.

Q moved quickly to activate his laptop. _Focus_ , he thought as the screen's familiar black and white image came into view. He began typing the set of commands that would permanently erase certain files in his computer, rendering them untraceable by his minions and even GCHQ-- a poison pill he'd devised a while back which he'd thought would come in handy one day. That time had finally arrived.

Bond moved back into the living room, two travelling cages in hand. "Q--" he said as he dumped the cages on the sofa and moved toward him.

He held up his hand. "In a minute, 007," he said, his voice coming out smooth even as his heart stuttered in his throat.

 _Please god._ _Not one step further._

Bond paused, a smirk flitting through his lips. "Getting rid of your porn?" he said slyly.

Q snorted even as he felt ice sliding down his spine. "As if anyone can find my porn, 007," he replied lightly even as he watched the task bar slowly gaining traction. "I uh...I believe the cats may be in the kitchen..."

"Oh, Christ," muttered Bond as he rolled his eyes and made for the doorway.

Q breathed out a sigh of relief when he had a few minutes to himself.

_Hurry, hurry..._

There were so many files, he'd have to be careful in future not to accumulate so much stuff.

The last to go was his screen wallpaper, when he restarted his computer, and Q had to glance nervously at the doorway to make sure Bond was not there, because he was damned, damned, _damned_ if the man ever saw his own picture, gracing Q's laptop screen.

At last, it was done.

"007?" he called, just as Bond returned from his expedition.

"I believe these are yours?" he said, holding two yowling and screeching furballs by the scruff of their necks, one in each hand, their paws dangling and scratching the air.

The noise that left Q was something he'd swear he'd never made before, halfway between a squeak and a shriek.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" he said, marching over to gather his feline companions from this...this bloody savage while trying to avoid the cats' claws.

"You'd best deal with them yourself next time," grunted Bond as Q coaxed them into the cages with difficulty. le Carré was especially stubborn, hissing and scratching at his hand as she was thrust into the narrow space. She would not forgive him easily, thought Q with an inward sigh.

"Are you done?" Bond said with just the slightest hint of exasperation.

"In a minute," Q replied as he made to gather his messenger bag. "I'll see you in the car."

He watched Bond heave the two cages out, muttering under his breath, before turning his attention back to his laptop.

He was about to shut it down when an email alert came in. He clicked on it.

The message consisted of one word.

_BOOM._

_"Bond--"_ Q only got that far before he felt the violent inrush of air heralding the explosion.

* * *

 

[Here's](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/post/184781221191/teaser-for-ch-5-of-my-00q-fic-his-keeper) the **teaser** for the next chapter. Enjoy!


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Notes:** Here's the next chapter! Enjoy and do let me know what you think. Drop by [**my tumblr**](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/) for fic updates and teasers.

* * *

 

There was no question of traveling via train or plane after what happened (especially the latter if Q had his say), so Bond ended up driving the full seven hours to their destination.

The explosion had occurred just after he’d put the cats into the back seat of the car. The door was barely shut when he’d heard Q’s faint cry from inside the house.

_“Bond—”_

It had happened then. The blast had been enough to rock the bullet-proof car that had shielded him. He’d felt the heat and convulsive shudder, the energy from the explosion nearly knocking him off his feet— nearly, but not enough to actually throw him. He’d known then that the bomb had detonated at the front of the house, where they had been only moments before.

He’d not registered the gaping hole it had made, had not remembered how he got there, but he was suddenly inside what remained of the living room, his voice a bellow: _“Q!”_

Through the debris and black smoke, there had been movement from underneath the charred desk at the end of the room and he’d seen that unruly mop of dark hair as Q emerged, pale and shaken but unscathed.

Time had seemed to skip once again and all he’d known was his hands fisting into Q’s shirt, his coat, hauling him up.

“Wait, 007!” Q had yelled when Bond had got an arm around him, hauling him bodily forward relentlessly.

“Leave the fucking thing!” Bond had snarled when Q had reached out to grab at what remained of his laptop and his messenger bag.

“We _can’t!”_ Q had snapped back, his eyes wide and feral behind his glasses. Bond had expected fear, even terror, in those green depths but there had been none.

And then they had stumbled out, Bond still half-hauling, half-dragging Q out of the rubble of his home, their ears singing, half deafened. The air was thick with dust and acrid with smoke, leaving a white film on their clothes, their hair, filling their lungs, choking them. All that time, Q had been hugging his bag and computer, and he’d not protested when Bond had shoved him into the passenger seat of the car. He’d got behind the wheel and they’d sped away toward HQ, the cats screeching behind them in the car.

“Are you alright?” he’d asked Q, sharply.

“Fine,” Q had replied somewhat irritably as he’d adjusted his glasses. “As you can see, I’m fine, 007. Kindly stop asking and just concentrate on the road.”

“Well,” Bond had said as he gathered his breath, quickly calming down. “So much for your mortgage.”

That had been hours ago. Hours ago, when they had to stop by HQ for a change in vehicle and a quick status report with M before they were finally cleared to be on their way. M had stared Q down, _I told you_ _so_ written plainly on his features without him having to say a word. Q, wisely, had declined to argue further and had meekly turned himself over to whatever action Bond had decided for them. In that one small act of relinquishment, Bond had sensed what Q must already know, that his world had changed forever.

Now they were here, their destination finally reached without further incident. Bond turned to look at Q, fast asleep with head slightly tilted back and to the side, mouth softly open. Dust still clung to his hair, his clothes. His glasses were slightly askew. His arms were still around his messenger bag, devoid of his computers. Bond had never seen him without a semblance of poise wrapped around him like a cloak, and the sight of him now, open and unguarded in exhausted sleep, was a little endearing.

He cleared his throat loudly and Q jerked suddenly awake, eyes snapping open.

“We’re here,” said Bond succinctly as he got out of the car.

* * *

 

Q followed Bond quietly into the cottage, each of them laden with luggage.

“These are heavy,” remarked Bond as he set down the special cases taken from Q branch.

“Equipment,” said Q laconically as he placed the cat cages down and gingerly opened the doors.

For a moment, nothing happened, then Asimov slowly poked his nose out of the dark confines of his cage before easing his body all the way through, mewing plaintively. He was hungry. There was nothing from le Carré for a moment or two more, then there was sudden, frenzied activity as she shot through her cage, bounding across the room in a flash of striped grey and white before disappearing down the corridor.

Q merely shrugged when Bond shot him a look. “She’s got her issues,” was all he said. “She’ll come around.”

“Right,” said Bond. “I’d suggest you freshen up and we can head down to the tavern for some dinner.”

Q already had his back to him, reaching down to haul the first of the cases. “You go ahead,” he said. “I’ll start setting up.”

“That’s not how this bodyguard business works,” said Bond flatly.

“Well, I’m not hungry,” replied Q mutinously.

“Like hell you’re not,” countered Bond. “You’ve only had a sandwich on the road and that was six hours ago. Besides, they’ve swept the house and surrounding area before we came. Everything’s clear.”

Q opened his mouth to argue and thought better of it. He was very tired. The sooner things got done, the better. “All right,” he said. “Let me just get the cats watered and fed, and we can be on our way.”

* * *

 

“We’ll need to work on our personas,” said Bond as they made their way down the tree-lined avenue, now rapidly darkening with sunset. “For now, just remember the names and general details.”

Q snorted. “Persephone,” he said derisively. Somebody had the gall to name the entire operation _Persephone._

“Well, that was M, not me,” Bond was quick to point out.

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s the most appropriate thing in the entire mission outline,” remarked Q caustically. “I’m going to hell, and you’re Hades dragging me there.”

There was a pause before Bond said, “You think this is all a game, don’t you.”

Q turned to face him, barely making out his features in the quickly gathering dusk. “Isn’t it?” he said. “To you, at least?”

“If that’s how you’re going to see it, you may as well play it, and play it well,” said Bond. “Who knows, we might end up even enjoying ourselves.”

That was not what Q was expecting at all, and before he could muster a proper retort, Bond continued as he made to fish something out from his pocket, “by the way, before I forget.”

It took a moment for him to realize what Bond had in his hand, and when he did, Q almost recoiled from the two objects nestled in Bond’s open palm. “What—?” he asked and immediately felt foolish.

Bond’s lips twisted into a small smile. “Our props,” he said.

Q could see the gleam of gold even in the faint light and he had to tear his gaze away. He could feel the heat rise to his cheeks and was glad it had gotten dark quite quickly. “I can’t believe you’re pushing through with this…this mad idea.”

“Why not?” Bond’s voice held more than a touch of exasperation.

“It’s utterly sophomoric, that’s why,” cried Q. “Who’s going to believe us?”

“Well, like I said, you give it a go, then. But if you can’t think of a better scenario at the end of this evening,” said Bond, the glower in his voice quite evident, “then take. The. Bloody. Ring.”

“Fine,” snapped Q as he snatched at his ring and put it in his pocket.

They resumed walking.

“We’re colleagues, you and I,” he said briskly. “We’re here to get away from the city and write a book together.”

“Nice try,” answered Bond, sounding amused, “but no.”

“Why the _hell_ not?” retorted Q. “You said you’re an instructor in some college or other. Aren't you supposed to be churning out an occasional publication or two?”

“And you’re an IT specialist working from home,” replied Bond. “How can we possibly be writing a book together?”

“I don’t see why not,” argued Q. “And I don’t see why you can keep the name James and I’m stuck with Quinlan.”

“Because,” said Bond with elaborate patience, “just in case there is any slip of the tongue, it can be easily remedied. James is a common enough name. Q isn’t.”

Q stopped in his tracks to eye Bond narrowly. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?” he said suspiciously.

“If that is praise coming from you, I suppose I ought to say thank you.”

Q shook his head, stubbornly holding himself off from smiling. He was supposed to be angry, for god’s sake. “Okay then. We’re related, somehow. Through our mothers.”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

They continued with the light bickering and before he knew it, they were in the center of town. They made their way to the local tavern that spilled bright, cheery light from every window, casting a warm glow on the darkened pavement outside. The place was packed but they managed to find a table.

“I’m famished,” said Bond as they were handed menus. “Their dinner will do for our first evening.”

“You’ve been here then,” said Q as he peered carefully around them.

“A few times when there’s a need to get away,” said Bond, already slipping into his persona with practiced ease.

“Right,” said Q as he cast a casual glance at the noisy crowd around them once again.

He wasn’t imagining it. Since they entered, every female eye had been upon them. Or more specifically, upon Bond.

_Of course._

He was stupid not to have anticipated it.  Stupid, stupid, _stupid._

He managed well enough until they had put in their orders—steak, medium rare, for Bond, roast chicken for himself (Bond wouldn’t hear of him ordering just a salad, so that ended up as a side dish they would share as a sort of compromise)— then he quietly excused himself to go to the men’s room.

He put out his hands against the sink to steady himself, willing his erratic breathing to even out. He’d never felt so humiliated, and he had only himself to blame.

 _Stupid,_ he thought once again. He’d thought himself quite knowledgeable and worldly, in that particular way well-read people thought they were. In actual practice, he couldn’t believe the utter idiocy he was capable of. To think he was 007’s quartermaster; he’d been in Bond’s ear, guiding him through missions ranging from assassinations to honey traps all over the world. He thought he knew this man inside and out. How could he have not factored in the effect Bond had on women?

Because, of course, that was the reason why Bond had gone for the whole married bit, wedding rings and all: to keep unwanted attention and company away from them; and all Q could think of was the certainty that he was being toyed with.

Since when had he been so self-absorbed?

 _He could have said something_ , thought Q angrily, but the anger was almost immediately directed at himself. 007 was far too experienced and sophisticated, not to mention supremely confident, to have to go around convincing people that he was irresistible. The people who truly had what it took had no need to utter a single word; all they had to do was walk into a room, just like what Bond did.

He was a bloody fool not to have seen it at all. He’d been too busy worrying over Bond’s hold over him.

 _Or maybe it’s because you’re just not good at reading people_ , he thought, staring hard at his reflection in the mirror. _You’ve spent far too much time in your dungeon with the machines._

As with Silva’s cunning, and now the threat to himself— he’d underestimated them all. And he’d underestimated Bond.

He thought of Bond, turning the head of every woman in the room (and perhaps a few men's as well) as he passed them all by. Bond, who just might be able to teach him a life lesson or two with his well-honed instinct for the strengths and weaknesses of human nature.

 _That’s it,_ he thought as he took out the slim gold band from his pocket. He was doing it for that reason alone, not for the roiling darkness that coiled thick and poisonous in his gut when he’d seen the women ogling Bond. That black feeling was going to remain nameless, he decided, just as it had always been when he was Q to 007. It would remain firmly in the background. He would not even acknowledge its existence, much less allow it to take shape inside him.

 _If that’s how you’re going to see it, you may as well play it, and play it well,_ Bond had told him. _Who knows, we might end up even enjoying ourselves._

Slowly, carefully, he put the ring on.

* * *

 

“Are you alright?” Bond asked when he returned to their table and Q realized he must have been away longer than he'd thought.

“My apologies,” Q said, and his voice was once more his own as he slid back into his seat. “I had something to take care of.”

“Well,” said Bond, who clearly did not know what to make of his statement. “Let’s hope you got it out of your system—”

Bond stopped short to stare at Q’s well-shaped hands, folded in a deliberately casual way in front of him, one on top of the other on the red tablecloth, the gold ring prominent on Q’s finger and gleaming softly in the dim light of the tavern.

"I have," Q replied calmly.

Bond raised his eyes to meet Q’s gaze and Q raised a prim eyebrow at him, his eyes bright behind the glasses as he dared Bond to make a quip. Bond’s smirk widened into a full smile.

“I knew you’d get there eventually,” he said as he took out his own ring and slid it on.

Q smiled back.

_I don’t know what the hell I am doing, so I’m afraid I’m just going to have to trust you, Bond. Let the game begin._

* * *

 

 **[Here's the teaser](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/post/184848694246/teaser-for-ch-6-of-my-00q-fic-his-keeper)** for the next chapter. Man, the Muse is on a roll here! 700+ words and counting for ch 6. I think we're ready for some naughtiness, don't you think? ^_~


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Here's the next chapter, enjoy! Mind the tags, please. Drop by [ **my tumblr**](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/) for fic updates and teasers.

* * *

 

It must have been the upheaval and chaos of the past 24 hours that had set off the tumult inside Q, and now it slithered its way like dark tendrils into his unconscious, sleeping mind; because it had been a while since he’d dreamed of Alexandre, and longer still when he’d last thought of him.

But there he was, in Q’s dream, just as he’d been when Q last saw him— handsome, golden, and not a day above twenty-four. Just as he had been when he broke Q’s heart.

None of that mattered in Q’s dream though. Against all rhyme and reason, Q still loved him with that curious, painful intensity reserved only for first loves. He would follow him anywhere, do anything he wanted. Alexandre needed only to say the word. Now Alexandre spoke, and although Q could not quite make out the words one by one, he understood that Alexandre was saying goodbye.

“Wait,” he said, the word coming out as a gasp. “Please, wait.”

Alexandre turned to go, his figure melting in the shadows that seemed to close in as if from nowhere, dimming Q’s vision, dark as a tunnel. He stumbled, but continued to run blindly ahead. Q ran until the darkness began to lift again, until he could see ahead of him. And there up ahead was a blond figure with his back to him.

“Alex, wait,” panted Q as he reached out with an urgent hand to touch the man’s shoulder. He felt breathless, as though there were a heavy weight on his chest, pressing down.

“Alex—”

The figure turned, but it was not Alexandre. Q drew back sharply, his breath catching in his throat as he took in the man’s hard features, the cold, startlingly blue eyes.

 _“Bond—”_ Q awoke with a start, his heart beating rabbit-fast in his chest.

A dream, nothing but a dream. He sank back into his pillow with a muffled groan, his hands on his face as he breathed in deeply, in and out, in and out, until the dream and its hold on him finally ebbed away. His chest still felt heavy though, and it was only when he lifted his head fully that he registered Asimov nestled on top of him, purring softly.

“Silly old boy. Off you get now,” he murmured, smiling slightly as he nudged Asimov to settle down on his side. Everything was a blur, he’d not don on his glasses yet. He enjoyed this quiet little pocket of time in the mornings when he was still fuzzy from sleep, the world as yet unfocused, his sharp mind slowly getting in gear before it snapped into full alertness. Some of his best ideas came to him at this time, but right now, all he could think about was the dream.

Now that the edge had worn off, he could feel the other, smaller things: a wistful sadness and a dull sense of loss, with a thin ribbon of desire winding through them, the cause for which he resolutely relegated to the usual morning spike of hormones: inside his pajamas he was rock-hard.

He lay there for a moment longer, snug under the covers, languidly stroking Asimov with one hand as he allowed his mind to wander.

Bond. It just had to be Bond, in the end. Why was he not surprised?

He sighed as he willed his body to calm down; otherwise he might have to do something about his state, and quite soon.

They had a nice dinner last evening, after he’d decided to put aside his hostility to the idea of their being married to each other. Bond had behaved superbly. He had been quite charming and chatty as he talked about everything and nothing. Almost against Q’s will, the food and company had gradually revived him and made the horror they had endured earlier in the day recede so that it did not grip him so. By the end of it, he had almost grown accustomed to the occasional lingering glances of the other diners around them. He’d almost grown to enjoy being seen with Bond. He’d worn the ring to bed last night to better acclimatize himself and today, waking up in a strange bed, in a new place out in the middle of nowhere, and despite that weird dream, he felt at ease…safe.

Q frowned. His reminiscences were not working to help his body relax at all. If anything, he’d grown only harder at the thought of Bond’s ring on his finger.

_Damn._

After a moment or so, he gave up and allowed his free hand to brush down his chest, delving under the covers to ghost down his abdomen. He closed his eyes, lips parting, welcoming the light touch as it teased a trail down his clothed erection.

It wasn’t until he turned his head that he saw, through his imperfect vision, the blurred figure dressed in dark blue, standing by his open doorway.

Bond knocked belatedly on the open door just as Q shot up to sit in bed, his hand going for his glasses on the bedside table and nearly knocking them to the floor.

“Christ, Bond,” he murmured as he quickly donned on his specs, bringing the man sharply into focus.

“Morning,” said Bond easily, a slight smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. His voice was a low rumble, setting off a _frisson_ that ran through Q like the touch of a hand. Bond looked remarkably younger and quite delectable in a navy blue sweater and jeans, his short blond hair neatly combed. “Your door was ajar… but it must have been the cat.”

“Yes, right,” said Q distractedly as he made to leave the bed before he remembered his condition, mercifully covered by the blankets.

“Take your time,” said Bond, already turning away. “You’re on holiday, after all.”

That reminded him.

“What time is it?” Q asked, but Bond was gone. He peered at the bedside clock. “Oh, _shit.”_

 _Fuck_ , he thought _. Fuckfuckfuck!_

He paused for a moment, trying to remember: was it just in his dream or had he actually said Bond’s name out loud? 

* * *

 

He took a brief hot shower, then turned the tap to cold, but it did nothing to assuage his lamentable condition. If anything, the unexpected jolt he’d received from Bond had merely added fuel to the fire.

 _Bloody hell,_ and this was just their first day together. How was he supposed to _cope?_

He sighed as he rested his forehead against the tiled bathroom wall. There was no helping it, then. It would be better to just get it out of the way.

He trailed wet fingers down to take himself in hand, his grasp firm, just bordering on tight. He let out a soft, slow exhale as he began to stroke from root to tip, his movements long and unhurried and luxurious, just the way he liked it.

 _Sweet_ , he thought as he bit his lip, concentrating on the feel of his fingers as they glided over his length, imagining it to be somebody else’s hand.

 _Christ_ , that felt good.

The dream ought to have bothered him, but now that he thought about it, Alexandre and Bond were of a type. He’d never really thought about it before. Certainly, he’d never looked at Bond and been reminded of Alex, but it seemed that he had a taste for certain men.

Was it the fate of shy, mousy boffins to be drawn to people who were their exact opposites?

He wasn’t into bears, dear god, _no_ , but certainly larger men who still managed to be lithe and graceful on their feet. That ought to have fit the description of almost all male double-O agents, but somehow, he’d only been fixated with Bond.

What was it about the man to exert such an effect on him?

And while there was a general similarity, there were also differences. Huge ones. Alexandre was tall and outgoing, gregarious, with a clever and wicked tongue. Bond was stockier, more well-built. And dangerous. So much more dangerous, as Q knew from experience. True to his naval background, Bond did not mince his words, and his rebellious streak had caused international incidents.  Comparing the two men, Bond was a veritable tiger compared to a wolf who turned out to be sheep in wolf’s clothing. There was easily no competition.

Alexandre had been amusing. Dealing with Bond had been something else entirely. He was challenging and addictive, like a drug. Q’s encounters with him had meant planning several steps ahead, and preparing for the unexpected. Back in M’s office, he had lashed out and accused Bond of playing games, but in truth, they both had. Their little game had kept him on his toes, had made him feel just a little bit more alive whenever Bond came to visit him in Q branch. It had been like a long-standing flirtation. Until recently he’d managed to gain the upper hand in most of their interactions, difficult as it may have been. That had only started to change yesterday as one by one, his defenses had started to crumble.

What would 007 think if he were to discover that his prim and proper Quartermaster liked things just a bit rough, just a bit dark and filthy? That he had a weakness for strong, difficult men? It was a recipe for disaster and Q had certainly never acted on any of it. Given his sensitive position in MI6, it was blackmail material, the stuff of honey traps. He had kept the compulsion tightly under wraps, but there it was, hidden but not vanquished, biding its time. He’d learned a painful lesson with Alex, but he’d not gone overboard with him and he’d managed to salvage his dignity when their relationship had ended; yet he had a feeling he just might give way and indulge with Bond, if he were not careful.

Especially with Bond dressed in a casual navy blue sweater and jeans, standing in his doorway earlier.

What had the man seen? Nothing much, Q supposed, as the thick blankets had shielded him, thank goodness.

 _But what if he had?_ Thought Q as he felt the coils of pleasure low in his belly, gathering slow and sure as he continued with his ministrations, delaying the moment for a little while longer, letting the delicious pressure build and grow.

What if Bond were here now, standing in the doorway of the bathroom, this tiger of a man watching, his gaze pale and hungry as Q touched himself? What would Bond do, knowing he was the cause for Q’s morning arousal, the reason why Q was jerking off in the shower? The reason for the occasional flustered moment in the lab, during every mission briefing and debriefing. The reason why Q couldn’t look at him for longer than a minute at a time. Had Bond ever wondered? Had he ever had a glimmer of suspicion as to what lay behind his Quartermaster’s cool front that was nothing more than a façade, ready to fall away given the right moment, the right word, the right touch?

Standing there, framed in the doorway of the bathroom in Q’s fevered imagination, would Bond just stay still, watching him stroke himself, or would he come in?

Try as he would, Q could not stop the gathering momentum. At the last thought of Bond entering his personal space, shedding his clothes before he reached out with a hand to touch him, Q stroked hard once, twice, and his orgasm was suddenly upon him. He bit his lip hard to stifle the moan that threatened to erupt from his throat as his world briefly dissolved in waves of pleasure.

When he opened his eyes, he was himself again. Slowly, he lifted his forehead from the tiled wall and rinsed himself off. Then he stepped out of the shower, grabbing for the towel. Pushing the wet locks of hair off his forehead, he put his glasses back on and turned to look at the bathroom door.

_Open the door, Bond. Tell me that you’ve been waiting on the other side._

The door, of course, remained stubbornly closed.

* * *

 

 **More author's notes:** Here's the [teaser](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/post/184989746456/teaser-for-ch-7-of-my-00q-fic-his-keeper) for the next chapter. Enjoy! Aaand channeling Bond in a sweater like


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Notes:** Here's another chapter! Please mind the tags which will be updated regularly. Drop by [**my tumblr**](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/) for updates and teasers, or if you want to show the Muse some love there, ehehe. Comments and constructive discussions are always appreciated. Enjoy! More author's notes and pictures at the end of the chapter, as well as links to teasers and research notes that are usually added a few days after a chapter is posted. Stay tuned!

* * *

 

Q shaved and carefully dressed into a full ensemble of buttoned down shirt, tie and cardigan, with a pair of dark, checked trousers, determined to put as many layers of clothing like pieces of armor between himself and the rest of the world before he stepped out to look for Bond.

He wondered whether he ought to bring up that awkward scene by the doorway earlier, but decided to drop it when he found the man seated at the dining table, engaged in a staring contest with le Carré, who was crouched in one corner of the room.

Q sighed. “Well. At least she’s done sulking,” he said.

Bond turned to him. “Is she always like this?” he queried.

Q craned his neck, checking the dishes laid out with cat food and water several feet away. “Better than usual,” he said. “At least she ate something during the night.”

Bond continued to gaze at him, a question in his eyes, and after a pause, Q continued, “I got her from a rescue centre when she was a year old. She had some scars courtesy of her previous owner and given her…attitude, she was categorized as a harder to home cat, so I stepped in. She's not really that hard to deal with. You just need to give her a lot of space and respect.”

“And the other one?”

Q shrugged. “Asimov used to get into fights and all sorts of scrapes around the neighborhood until I had him spayed,” he said. “As you can see, now he’s sweetly avuncular.”

He saw Bond’s mouth twitch into a smirk. “Ouch. And why the names?”

“Favorite authors, of course, from when I was young,” said Q.

“When were you ever old?” queried Bond, the smirk now a small smile, and Q found that he had nothing to say to that and thought it best to change the subject. Luckily, his eyes alighted on breakfast that was laid out on the table: scrambled eggs and sausages, and a basket of fresh bread.

“You… cooked,” Q said, somewhat dubiously. He remembered Bond ordering a couple of things to bring home from the tavern last night.

“No, I just called to have some things catered from outside,” said Bond, still smiling that small smile which meant that he was teasing. His eyes followed Q to the sideboard as he made a cup of Earl Grey for himself.

“You didn’t have to,” replied Q as he took a seat opposite Bond. “Cook, I mean. But thank you.”

“No need to thank me. I can do some light frying and putting things in the oven, but that’s just about it,” replied Bond. “I fix what I want to eat. I’m not sure if this is along your alley, though.”

Bond must have seen the little bags of prunes and nuts that Q had occasionally brought to nibble on in Q branch to while away the long hours at work and figured he must be some sort of prudish herbivore.

“A bit of meat every now and then won’t hurt,” Q assured him bracingly as he took up his fork to help himself with some egg and sausage. “I’m sure this is delicious.”

“You don’t have to do anything to please me,” said Bond, in a tone that carried just the slightest hint of a suggestion.

Q looked up at him. “Of course not, Bond,” he said calmly. “If anything, it ought to be the other way around.”

Bond blinked, but Q was already looking down at his plate, cutting his sausage precisely into small, bite-sized pieces. After a moment, Q glanced up at him, his green eyes mischievous, and Bond’s smile widened.

 _The little minx,_ he thought. It was nice to know that a good night’s sleep had restored some of Q’s defenses. Defenses he wouldn’t mind tearing down all over again, at his leisure this time.

So what was that scene earlier, when he’d thought he heard his name being called, only to see Q still in bed, looking dreamy and languid?

There was something there, something that Bond had sensed time and again in Q but which continued to elude him. The moment he thought he could close his hands around it, it went up in smoke.

He watched Q as he ate a carefully prepared forkful of egg and sausage, wondering not for the first time how any man could be so waiflike and achingly beautiful, with that naturally red, expressive mouth; that thick, wavy hair the color of dark chocolate in sharp contrast to his alabaster skin. They’d known each other for two years and Q had managed to remain an enigma to him the entire time. That just wouldn’t do.

“Are the cameras working?” Q asked suddenly, his tone formal and business-like, as though he’d sensed Bond staring (which he was).

“Perfectly,” Bond replied.

Q stretched out a slim, shapely hand. “Give it here,” he said.

Bond handed Q his mobile, saying, “you’re not allowed to colonize my phone, mind. And you’re not allowed to go online yet.”

“I can wipe my tracks clean from your phone so that you wouldn’t even know that I was there,” Q said matter-of-factly.

That succeeded in wiping the smile off Bond’s face completely, and Q hastily continued, “but no, I won’t go online as myself, as I promised. Besides, M has removed my access to work-related matters.”

“Well, that’s good to hear.”

Q gazed earnestly at Bond. “I know I’ve caused more than enough trouble yesterday,” he said. “I promise I won’t make it any harder on you than necessary, Bond.”

Bond merely nodded after a moment and watched as Q went back to examining his own handiwork in Bond’s phone.  He wondered if withdrawal symptoms were kicking in yet. Considering how much Q’s work (and presumably his life) was centered online, it must be hard not to be able to access the internet. Bond knew people who could not live without their phones, checking in almost every minute of everyday, but it seemed that Q was sticking to the script, at least for now.

As soon as they’d returned from dinner last night, Q had insisted on installing the video cams outside, dotting the perimeters of the cottage, and linking the videos to a specially created app that he had installed in Bond’s phone. All his equipment had come from his messenger bag and the cases he’d brought from Q branch, and he’d promised to introduce Bond to an entire cache of weapons for his own use.

Q hummed when he was finished. “Lovely,” he merely said as he returned Bond’s phone. “I’ve got one more trick up my sleeve, and then we’re all set.”

After breakfast, they went out together to circle the cottage. It was situated prettily with a small garden and flower hedges, with ivy partly covering the stone walls. Cozy as it looked, it was a very efficient safehouse masquerading as a timeshare. Over the years, embellishments had been gradually added, such as bulletproof windows. Right now, Q was more interested in the doorknobs, and he carried in his gloved hands a spray can and a piece of cloth.

“Can’t be too careful in the age of Novichok,” he said. “I’ve developed this simple concoction that you can rub onto surfaces. To the untrained eye, it will appear as nothing but a metal polish, but it will change color when anything suspicious is applied onto the door handles.”

Bond smiled. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

“It’s my job, 007,” said Q crisply as he got busy with his spray can and cloth, rubbing the door handles until they positively gleamed.

“Let’s wait for it to set. Half an hour should do,” said Q as he finished with his task.

“Moneypenny called earlier, said she’ll be flying in tomorrow evening with your computers as soon as they’ve been cleared by HQ,” said Bond.

“Good, she can join us for dinner.”

“Of course,” Bond replied. “I’ve also asked her to bring Rufus.”

Q straightened up. “Who, or what, is Rufus?”

“Our alarm system and deterrent rolled into one.”

“But we already have one.”

“Nothing beats the natural kind. Besides, your animals are perfectly useless in any given situation,” said Bond.

“I resent that, Bond,” said Q lightly, then he froze when Bond placed a light hand on his shoulder.

“You should get used to this,” Bond said as he moved to squeeze gently at Q’s suddenly stiff muscles. “Married couples sometimes touch each other, you know, and in public, no less.”

Q shot him a look that told him he wasn’t fooling anyone. “You just enjoy making me uncomfortable,” he grumbled.

“Do I—” asked Bond, amused. Yet before he was finished speaking, Q’s hand was on his chest, his fingertips hard as he pushed Bond a step back.

Bond looked at that long-fingered hand, then at Q. “You can push harder,” he said softly. “I promise I won’t break.”

“I can assure you when push shoves, I shall do whatever it takes,” Q promised him, his green gaze unwavering as he stared back at Bond.

Bond’s smirk was back, playing faintly on his lips. “And we may also be required to kiss—”

Q turned away, signaling that their little discussion was at an end. “Don’t push your luck, Bond,” he warned, his jaw set as he moved to put some space between them. “So what’s next? It’s hardly time to start watching telly.”

Bond smiled as he watched Q withdraw, all adorable ruffled feathers. “I thought we might go out shopping today,” he said.

“Excellent,” Q said shortly, not looking at him, although Bond could see that the tips of his ears were pink, “we need milk, and some supplies for the cats. The poor things had to make do with nothing but a pile of old newspapers last night. Before going out though, I think you may want to get acquainted with your tech?”

“Yes, sir,” murmured Bond as he made to follow Q back into the house. Since last night, Q seemed to have made a decision based on a possible misunderstanding of their situation that Bond had yet to figure out. Now, he was flinging himself into the mission, he was trying so hard, the poor man seemed hell-bent on making this entire venture work despite how he actually felt that Bond almost felt pity for him.

It was early days yet. Perhaps soon, he would be able to make Q relax around him more.

He was looking forward to it.

* * *

Q began fleshing out their relationship when they were in the car, headed for the next town half an hour away which had a larger shopping centre. The only requirement was that Q build around Bond’s persona which was already laid down after years of sporadically using the cottage on various missions. He was not allowed to change it. “Let’s see. You’re a language teacher at Weymouth College, and I was your student for a few semesters learning… French.”

Q made a grimace. “Okay, so I was in Weymouth for a year or so before transferring to Imperial College London?”

Bond made a small, encouraging noise as he drove. “Go on.”

“Right, anyway,” said Q. “That ought to explain the age difference between us. So—”

“Of course, you seduced me,” Bond continued, smiling as he stared straight ahead, keeping his eyes on the road. It was raining slightly. “Or else why would a beautiful, young creature like you end up with a run-down, small-time college instructor like me?”

Q rolled his eyes. “Can we please be half-serious for even a minute, 007—”

“James.”

“James,” Q amended. “And I see what you’re doing. Run-down, small-time? Clever of you, Bond.”

“James,” Bond said again. “And what was I doing?”         

“I wouldn’t think you’d stoop to fishing but I suppose I can be mistaken from time to time,” said Q. “Anyway, I don’t think anyone is going to dig this deep—”

“You’ll never know,” warned Bond.

Q took a breath and forged ahead: “All right. I will admit that I was much taken by you when I was in your class. But then I never said anything, you never did anything…untoward. We met again much later, after I’ve graduated from Imperial, and—”

“We met again in a conference.”

“Right,” said Q, nodding, as they let the ball of yarn unspool slowly. He frowned.“Well, I suppose we can meld languages together with an IT agenda. Perhaps your computer needed to be debugged.”

“How will you account for your accent?” Bond suddenly asked.

Q blinked. “Pardon?”

“You’re too posh to be coming from anywhere near Dorset,” remarked James. “You and your wardrobe.”

Q looked down at his patchwork indigo-dyed, cable-knit cotton cardigan from Beams Plus under his blue checkered jacket and remarked dryly, “welcome to the wild and wonderful world of online shopping. What, you’ve never tried it before? I highly recommend it, Bond. Once you start, I can assure you that you will find it hard to stop, especially when you’re working as an IT specialist in the City, earning a six-figure salary.”

Bond’s smirk widened. “Touché.”

Q sighed as he thought of something. “We may need to set up some social media pages, just to make everything look more authentic. Of course, we can opt to keep them private.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

“No. The problem is, to anyone who’ll see you, you don’t look remotely like a college instructor,” complained Q. “You look like…”

“What?” Bond prodded after Q trailed off.

 _A provocateur_ , thought Q _. An international man of mystery. A tiger._

“I don’t know. Just not an academic,” Q finally managed.

Bond cast him an amused glance. “You don’t think I’ll be able to pull it off?”

“You always tended toward mayhem and destruction in your missions,” Q merely said.

“Watch me.”

They pulled into the parking lot of a Tesco.

“I didn’t think it would be this difficult, concocting the background of an average persona,” Q confessed ruefully as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Welcome to my world, Quinlan.”

Q took care of the cat supplies quickly, purchasing two cat beds, a cat litter and more food, as well as a few toys. He went through the hardware section as well, looking for some wires and tools that he would need for his tinkering. Bond merely tailed after him, and looked rather doting, allowing himself to be ordered about to fetch some small item or other while Q busied himself with his to-do list.

Finally, he’d volunteered to make dinner for Moneypenny when she came to visit, and wouldn’t hear of buying anything from the frozen section of the supermarket. They drove back home, laden with supplies, and decided to walk back to the town square where they had spotted a nice wine cellar and a shop selling fresh produce near the tavern the night before.

“We’re running late. We still need to think about lunch after this,” Q said as Bond made a beeline for the wine cellar. “What say I drop by the produce shop now to pick up some salmon? It’s just next door. You can get some white wine to go with it.”

Q started as he felt Bond suddenly close a hand on his waist, pulling him in beside him.

Bond’s voice was level and entirely reasonable when he leaned in to say, “you promised you won’t be difficult. And remember what I told you about how this entire bodyguard business works? You’ll just have to get used to the fact that we’re now as good as joined at the hip.”

Q set his mouth into a thin, stubborn line, but before he could say anything, Bond removed his hand from his waist and stepped away. Bond got some scotch and red wine, but he made Q select the white wine that would go with the salmon.

“See?” said Bond as they finally made their way over to the produce shop. “That didn’t take fifteen minutes.”

 _You’re overthinking things_ , Q would have wanted to say, but then that would be foolish, because it was exactly 007’s job to do so. He watched Bond nonchalantly take in the interiors of the produce shop as they set foot inside, just as he had done at the wine cellar, and knew that he was casing the place for possible threats, noting the windows and exits, the people, everything.

Q breathed out a small sigh as he made his way to the fish section, leaving Bond by the meat and poultry. There weren’t a lot of people inside the shop, to begin with, just three or four other shoppers, their backs to him, busy picking out their choices from the fresh meats and fish on display. Absolutely nothing suspicious to worry about.

“Hullo,” he said brightly to the lady behind the counter as he leaned in to inspect the goods on display. “I’ll have some of that beautiful salmon fillet you’ve got there. Yes, a kilo ought to do it, thank you.”

“Are you visiting these parts, sir?” she asked, smiling.

“Oh, yes,” he said, beaming as he watched the fish being wrapped. “This is my first time in these parts. Quite lovely! I’ve always wanted—”

That was when the voice came behind him, entirely unexpected, like a punch to the kidneys.

“Colin?”

* * *

 

 **More Author's Notes:** I LOVE Q's quirky fashion sense! Personally, I think he would be right at home in Tokyo, where geek chic rules. Take for example one of the cardigans he wore in Spectre (photo below), which was from **Beams Plus** , a Japanese brand (thanks to [ajb007](https://www.ajb007.co.uk/topic/46154/qs-spectre-wardrobe/page/2/), a 007 discussion forum delving chiefly on the clothes worn by various characters for pointing this out). I have taken a page from this detail to dress him in that patchwork indigo-dyed, cable-knit cotton cardigan, another creation by Beams Plus (far right). 

      

Aaand here's the [**teaser**](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/post/185107759506/teaser-for-ch-8-of-my-00q-fic-his-keeper) for the next chapter! Enjoy! (I think we all know who that mystery person is, yes??) XD

And here are some notes on [Q's two doctoral degrees](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/post/185152583596/some-notes-on-qs-two-doctoral-degrees-for-my-00q), in preparation for the next chapter. ^_~


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Notes:** Here's the next chapter! Enjoy! Some notes on Q's two doctoral degrees are found [**here**](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/post/185242526101/some-notes-on-qs-two-doctoral-degrees-for-my-00q), and more notes at the end of the chapter.

* * *

 

“Colin?” the voice came from behind him and Q froze.

Except in his dreams, he had not heard that voice in more than ten years.

He turned, time seeming to slow down like the flow of molasses. His mind was still in shock, wondering if he were imagining things, yet there stood the man, hardly an arm’s breadth away, behind him.

“Alex?” Q said, his eyes wide, and the man was already taking his hand and shaking it.

“It’s really you,” said Alexandre, smiling and shaking his head in disbelief. “You’ve not changed a bit. How are you, Colin?”

“I’m…good,” Q said, making an effort to shut his gaping mouth. Bad habit of his, really. “I’m brilliant. How are you?”

“Fine, fine,” returned Alex, and he looked just that. Older, with more laugh lines around the eyes, perhaps, but still as boyishly handsome as before. “Fiona and I are staying here for a few days. I…Colin, it’s been so long. Ten years, is it?”

“Yes,” Q replied, trying not to cast a frantic eye around them for Bond.

 _Help!_ He thought.

“Fancy meeting you here,” said Alex, his surprise quickly giving way to his usual, drawling ease. Q had almost forgotten his slickness, like an oil spill. “I don’t remember you as the type to want to go places.”

“Well, no,” said Q. “Umm. Actually, I’m here with someone.”

Alex lifted a teasing brow. “Really?” he said.

“Umm,” said Q, wishing the floor could open up and just swallow him whole.

_Where the hell was 007?_

He turned his head and Bond was suddenly there at his side, effortlessly sliding an arm around his waist, cradling him, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Q turned back just as Alex did a double take. It was…priceless.

 _Oh god,_ Q thought next, relief and alarm washing through him in equal measure. _Now here comes the part where he calls me Quinlan and everything comes crashing down._

Yet Bond, when he spoke— his voice coming out in a low rumble— surprised him with, “darling?”

Despite his thoughts and the conflict raging within him, Q found himself settling into Bond’s one-armed embrace. He was so close that he could feel the outline of Bond’s Walther in its gun holster, carefully concealed inside his jacket.

“Yes,” said Q, nodding once as if for emphasis. “James, this is my friend from university, Alex. Alex, this is James. My husband.”

Bond gave an easy smile, his face breaking out into wrinkles as he extended a hand. “How do you do,” he said politely and it was worth it. It was definitely worth it, seeing Alex’s flabbergasted expression when Q mentioned the word _husband._ Q was not a vindictive person at heart but it would be no exaggeration to say that he’d fantasized about this scenario for a long, long time.

“It’s been far too long,” said Alex as he gazed from Q to James and back. “We need to catch up on things. Have you guys had lunch? What say we—”

“Oh, that won’t do, sorry,” said Q quickly. “We have a previous engagement, and—”

“Dinner, then? Tonight?” said Alex eagerly. That was another of his traits that Q had nearly forgotten: dogged persistence.

“Ah—”

Bond stepped in. “Dinner would be great,” he said.

Q gaped at him. “But Eve—” he began.

“—Won’t be coming until tomorrow, or have you forgotten, love?” replied Bond. He turned back to Alex, his bearing casual. “Anyway, I would love to meet Colin’s friends, he doesn’t tell me much about them. He’s all work, work, work.”

“That’s the Colin I know,” said Alex, nodding. “So, 8 pm tonight at The Oak restaurant? Can’t miss it, it’s the only one serving French around here.”

Bond nodded. “We’ll be there,” he said.

* * *

“Bond,” hissed Q as soon as they were out of the shop and walking homeward. “That was _insane—”_

“Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it,” said Bond.

“—and _brilliant,”_ said Q, grinning.

 _Christ_ , thought Bond, seeing that wide smile of helpless delight on Q’s face. Bond had never seen him smile like that before. All Q had ever given him were thin-lipped, polite ones, and sometimes a sardonic smirk or two when Bond deserved them, but never something like this; never something that made Q glow from within for even just a few seconds so that he looked radiantly happy. Bond had never seen him so chuffed, his face flushed with a mixture of incredulity, embarrassment and pleasure. It was as if the mask had suddenly dropped, giving him a raw glimpse of the young man behind the awesome job title, one of the nation’s most important so that he was known only by a single letter of the alphabet.

“Oh my god.” Q shook his head again. “Give me a moment, please. That was...unexpected.”

Bond watched as Q quickly collected himself, the mask already lowering back in place.

“Boyfriend?” He hazarded, before Q could fully raise the drawbridge back into himself.

“Former,” corrected Q. “And it was many years ago.”

Bond could see that he was going to be stingy on the details. “You’ll have to fill me in before dinner,” he said. “We wouldn’t want to trip up on our story.”

Q sighed. “You shouldn’t have accepted his invitation in the first place,” he said. “I’m content to just let it go. It’s enough for him to see that I’ve moved on.”

There was a pause before he added hesitantly, “does this count as a breach in security?”

Bond considered. “The risk is minimal,” he said. “I don’t believe anyone else heard him.”

“You did, though.”

“I did, but that was because I was already moving in,” replied Bond.

“So…we don’t actually have to do anything for now?”

“No, but I will need to evaluate him further later to see if he does constitute a risk.” Half truths came so naturally to Bond. It had served him well through the years. “We’ll have to consolidate my persona. Obviously the language teacher isn’t going to cut it in this case.”

“Right,” said Q a bit unhappily. “Of course.”

“He broke your heart, didn’t he?” inquired Bond next.

 _I’ll kill him_ , he thought, and did not pause to consider where _that_ came from.

Q straightened his shoulders, and when he spoke, his voice was firm and authoritative, the way he would address Bond when they were both in Q branch: “I hardly think that’s relevant, and I’m not allowing you to dig into my—”

“I will need general details, at least,” Bond interrupted smoothly, “if we want everything to sound authentic. You don’t want me to blow my cover in front of your friend.”

“Former friend,” Q corrected him yet again. “We’ve lost touch for more than a decade. That should give us ample cover, Bond.”

“Lead the way, then.”

* * *

Q sat him down after their late lunch. Bond could tell that he was nervous, the way that he was twisting the ring on his finger.

Bond spoke before Q could say anything, “I don’t mean to pry. You can opt not to tell me anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

Q nodded. “I know, Bond,” he said softly. “It’s not what you think. It’s just…my story is going to sound like a nursery rhyme compared to your operatic love affairs.”

Bond raised a brow at Q’s words, but if he thought about it, _operatic_ would not be a bad choice to describe some of the romantic scrapes he’d been through.

Q took a deep breath and said, “you’re right, of course. Was it that obvious that you saw it immediately? He did break my heart. What can you expect of your first time being in love?”

That should not have pulled at Bond, but it did.

“I was nineteen, he was twenty three, in our third year in Cambridge,” said Q. “He claimed he was having difficulty with one of the Maths subjects, and he hounded me for weeks, trying to get me to tutor him.”

“You didn’t give in quickly,” noted Bond.

“I was…wary, I suppose,” said Q, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “At first I thought I was in for a practical joke. What could we possibly have in common? He was rich and good-looking, with his own circle of friends. And yes, his name ends in -dre rather than the usual –der because he has a French mother. His surname is St. John Smythe, which means—”

“He’s a pretentious little prick,” supplied Bond helpfully.

Q had to smile at that.

“—Which means that he’s from an old, landed family,” he continued. “My family is solidly academic, but not moneyed, and nowhere near landed. My friends are mostly online entities. I told myself it would be best not to let anything start between us, yet he was quite persuasive, overwhelming when he chose to lavish his full attention on you. I think that was what got to me. I’d never had that before. It’s a bit like having the sun on you while everybody else was cast into shadow. That kind of attention was blinding, in a good sort of way. Sorry. I’m not telling this story properly.”

“Go on,” said Bond.

“Well, what is there to say except that in the end, I fell for him hook, line and sinker?” said Q. “We had half a year together, and everyday had seemed like summer. Then, he started fading away. A couple of missed calls here and there, dates cancelled at the last minute, always with a plausible excuse. Busy schedules that we suddenly could not align. We were graduating, after all. There were so many things to be done, loose ends to tie up. It wasn’t until I chanced to see him with the aristocratic girlfriend whom he ended up marrying that everything clicked into place.”

 _I_ will _kill him_ , thought Bond clearly.

“I couldn’t believe it, at first. Tried to invent all sorts of excuses on his behalf. When it became clearer and clearer that I was actually the third party involved, well…”

Q trailed off, his eyes far away for a few moments before he glanced back at Bond.

“That’s it, I’m afraid,” he said simply. “My apologies if you’re looking for a suitable climax to the story. There just isn’t one.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

Q’s head snapped up, his green eyes as hard as the line of his mouth. “Now, Bond,” he said, the warning in his voice clear. “Whatever happened to ‘I don’t mean to pry’?”

 _Is this why you’re so closed off…so aloof with me_ , thought Bond as he gazed at Q, not backing down. _All because of this arsehole who made you build that impenetrable fortress around your heart?_

Whatever Q saw in Bond’s expression seemed to make him reconsider. “All right. Yes,” Q finally said, and Bond felt something within him sink. “Since you want to know so badly. Perhaps you might also want to know how much I cried afterward. How I…begged. I would not have put it past myself to grovel at that point, if I thought that would bring him back. Is that what you want to know? That’s what first love does, yes? Reduce you to nothing but a bloody fool, an IQ of 174 be damned.”

Q glanced up at Bond then quickly looked away. “Like I said, it’s a playground tiff compared to what you’re used to. I’ve read your file, of course.”

 _Of course,_ thought Bond. He said, "what matters is you got hurt."

Q shrugged. “It wasn’t anything major. Growing pains and all that. Obviously, I learned my lesson and I’ve moved on.”

 “Well, this is an excellent opportunity then,” Bond said. “Don’t let it go to waste.”

“No, Bond, we’re not going there,” said Q witheringly.

“Who knows? It could be fun, rubbing his face in.”

“Fun?” said Q as he stared at him in disbelief. “This is infantile. I’ve got over him. In fact, we shouldn’t have accepted his dinner invitation. If we’d got his number, I would have called to cancel it.”

“Yet you chose to introduce me as James, your husband.”

“What was I supposed to do? Tell him the truth, that you’re a double-O agent from MI6 and my bodyguard?” retorted Q.

Bond abruptly changed tact. “What did he tell you, when you went to him, crying?”

“What is the _point_ of this, Bond?” said Q, exasperated.

Bond was inexorable. “What did he say?”

Q stared at him for a moment, throat working, then, “he said he was sorry that I had got things wrong. He’d never meant to lead me on. He even sent me an invitation to his wedding, to show that there were no hard feelings.”

Bond actually let out a soft laugh at that. “We are definitely doing this,” he said. “Think of this as my way of saying thank you for all the times you had my back in the field.”

“Look, if you’re not going to be the adult here, then I will be,” retorted Q, an angry flush creeping into his cheeks. He looked adorable. “We are _not—”_

“Help me with my persona.”

_“Bond—”_

“You don’t have to say much. You can just sit there and let me do all the talking, if you’re uncomfortable,” said Bond. “Now. Your background, after graduating.”

“My first PhD was in IT, Cambridge,” said Q after a longish pause where he bit on the inside of his cheek as he struggled with Bond’s plan before apparently giving in. “My dissertation was in cybersecurity. Do you remember when I told you about the type of computer safeguarding program that only six people in the world knew how to design and which I invented? I was working on the prototype then. Apparently, one of my professors knew the old Q— Major Boothroyd— and I was introduced to him at a conference where I was presenting one of my papers. That was how I was recruited into MI6.”

“How old were you then?” Bond queried.

“Twenty-three.”

Bond gave a low whistle which Q ignored. “The second PhD was in weapons engineering,” he said. “Before MI6 I knew next to nothing about weaponry, and I suppose it would be no exaggeration to say that it was love at first sight.”

Bond smiled. “I can imagine.”

“So the old Major sent me off to Cranfield, all expenses paid, while I continued working in Q branch. Henry Flagen was, and continues to be, a huge help, as you know. We’ve been upgrading the weapons you use in the field based on the latest cutting-edge technology, and our next step will be introducing AI into the mix.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” said Bond.

“So, that’s it,” said Q with a shrug. “I don’t know how you can weave any of that into your persona.”

“Let’s make it as simple as possible to avoid any possible entanglements,” said Bond. “You’re in IT specializing in cybersecurity, and I’m in private security. We met through work. I’ll leave it to you to find a likely company and flesh out the details.”

“All right,”Q said. “That… would actually work.”

“Of course it will,” Bond assured him. “Now, when were we married?”

“Oh. Well…”

“Six months ago,” Bond said. “That ought to make it fresh enough for us that we’re still getting used to each other.”

“Okay,” Q said with what appeared to be a grudging smile.

“In the course of the evening, I will need to touch you time and again, just like in the produce shop,” Bond advised. “I’d really appreciate it if you don’t startle.”

“I’ll…try.”

“And one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Can I kiss you?” Bond asked, perfectly straight-faced.

Q gave him a beatific smile. “Absolutely not,” he said.

* * *

Q did not know what possessed him to spill himself all over Bond like that, he honestly didn’t. That man and his devilish manipulation tactics, sitting there lending him an ear, half-encouraging, half-goading him into telling him things. He should have seen it for what it was.

Now it was too late. Now they were making their way to dinner, their little story neatly hammered out to be tried and tested.

This was utterly ridiculous, yet it could not eclipse how he’d told Bond that he’d slept with Alexandre. That had been the height of stupidity. He really did not know how it came to be. He could swear on a stack of bibles that he did not know what had made him do it, but the strange thing was, it felt like a load had been lifted from his shoulders, especially when Bond had been so decidedly non-judgemental.

Why the hell would Bond want to know about his past, anyway? Yet he had, and for some unfathomable reason Q had somehow felt the need to convince him that he was no wet-behind-the-ears virgin…which only goes to show how inexperienced he truly was in dealing with the likes of Bond outside work.

What was it about this man that could make him lose his mental faculties like this?

This was all going to go to shit, he could just feel it. Yet beside him, Bond was utterly relaxed, his strides long and easy as they made their way to the restaurant. It was only there, when they were shaking hands once again with Alexandre, minus his wife who was not feeling well, that Q realized how effortlessly Bond had slipped into the role of James Fisher.

He’d suggested the surname earlier to Bond, half in jest, for the way he had been brazenly snooping around his background, fishing for information. Bond had gamely incorporated the name into his persona then and there.

Conversation flowed smoothly as Bond effortlessly took the helm. Q glanced at him and had to admit he looked different— understatedly handsome in a black sweater and grey tie, with a grey sports coat. His frank, open demeanor looked completely natural, his brow clear and the lines of his face relaxed. In short, Q was witnessing a double-O agent getting into gear in real time.

“So,” said Alexandre to Q as they started on the first course. “You and James? How long…?”

“Six months,” said Q succinctly before he went back to his soup. “So, uh, do you holiday here often, Alex?”

“Not really,” said Alex. “We thought we’d try it out this once, get away from it all for a few days. Unfortunately Fiona has come down with one of her notorious migraines. So how did you two meet?”

“Through work,” supplied Bond laconically. “This is a lovely place, isn’t it? Far enough away from everything so that it’s almost secluded. It’s just what Colin and I needed.”

“Let me guess, it’s difficult to pry him from his computers?” said Alex wryly, glancing knowingly at Q. Q hated his proprietary smugness and wondered how he’d thought it charming, once upon a time.

Bond’s smile widened. “Oh, for now I’ve got him all to myself, haven’t I, darling?”

Q could feel himself flushing. He replied softly, “haven’t you got tired of me during the honeymoon, James? It was mere months ago.”

 _Bloody Jesus Christ, where the hell did_ that _come from?_

He glanced up shyly after a moment to see Bond grinning— actually grinning— at him.

“I wouldn’t mind having a second one right now,” Bond tossed back at him smoothly.

“So, uh,” Alexandre broke in, clearly sounding discomfited. “You’re in private security, James?”

His tone was politely skeptical.

“Yes,” answered Bond. “I don’t look it, do I?”

Q nearly snorted into his soup. Bond was probably feeling pleased as punch that his persona was working like a charm, if all Alex could see was his mild, weathered exterior.

“I’m past my prime. Nowadays I’m stuck behind a desk, just like Colin.”

“Oh. More time to relax then, engage in some hobbies.”

“Well, I do like the outdoors,” Bond replied brightly. “I’ve been trying to get Colin to go out more, just like what we’re doing now. He’s not very receptive, had to drag him here kicking and screaming—”

“I did not kick and scream,” Q interjected mildly.

“—But if the outdoors don’t work, at least we share an interest in pictures.”

Alex lit up. “Oh?”

 _Shit,_ thought Q. He’d forgotten to mention that Alex had been into Renaissance art.

“Yes,” said Bond, nonchalantly reaching out to take Q’s hand in his. “In fact, our first date was in the National Gallery.”

Q looked at Bond sharply, and all Bond did was hold his gaze, the light in his own eyes fond.

“I thought I was never going to be able to get him to go out with me,” said Bond softly. “He was like a shadow at work, difficult to pin down. Finally he must have taken pity and suggested meeting up at the Gallery on a Sunday morning. So there I was, in front of the Temeraire, looking about as washed up as that bloody ship. I was at a low ebb then. Then in came this young man who sat down right beside me, wrapped up in his duffel coat, and started talking about the inevitability of time.”

Q stared at Bond and felt as though he’d forgotten how to breathe. Bond glanced back at him, warm malice dancing in those pale eyes.

“No doubt, he’d probably meant to put me in my place with the comparison, but it was spot on, all of it,” continued Bond. “And it made me realize that he saw me quite clearly. He knew me in that instant more than I did myself, just when I thought he couldn’t possibly give a damn about me at work. He knew me yet he was willing to throw in his lot with me. And he never let me down, not even once.”

It took a moment for Q to respond. “I…didn’t think you would remember that at all,” he said as he stared, fascinated, at their linked hands, their rings glinting in the soft light and Bond’s thumb lightly caressing his skin.

Bond gave him a fond squeeze. “How can I forget? As first dates go, ours was quite…remarkable,” he said, smiling. Somewhere in the blue depths of his gaze lurked a wink, just for Q.

That seemed to put a lid on Alex’s curiosity, and after a few awkward minutes, they passed the evening pleasantly enough on other matters.

After the dinner, Alex tried to get Q’s number. Bond smilingly gave him his. Q could not wait to leave, but Bond was not quite finished yet. As they were making their farewells, he was quick to notice that Q had not brought along his gloves. “Again?” he said.

“No worries,” said Q briskly as he patted the sides of his coat. “That’s what pockets are for.”

Wordlessly, Bond took Q’s bare hand in his and slid it into his own coat pocket. “Thanks again for dinner, we’ll see you,” he called out to Alex before they turned and started down the road.

After a few blocks, Q managed to say, “I think you can let me out of your pocket now. Really Bond, don’t you think you were overdoing it just a bit?”

“To look at the expression on his face, I don’t think so,” said Bond as he released Q’s hand. “Well, that turned out to be an enjoyable evening. He shut up after the Gallery. Did I miss anything?”

Q shook his head bemusedly. “You hit the nail on the head with that one,” he replied. “Alex knew how much the Gallery meant to me. Still does.”

Bond glanced at him. “Did you take him there on one of your dates?”

“Let’s just say I reserve it for special occasions,” said Q somewhat stiffly.

“Including meeting me?”

“Yes, 007,” he said softly. “Including you.”

“I’m flattered,” said Bond lightly.

“It’s a good thing the wife didn’t show up tonight,” said Q. “Just consider how awkward it would have been if she was there.”

“There’s probably no more wife at this point,” said Bond. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they are divorcing, or have recently divorced.”

“Oh?” said Q. “And how do you know? Don’t tell me you can pick it up from his clothes or some other small detail ala Sherlock Holmes.”

“Trust me, if the wife is still around and even if that migraine turned out to be an aneurysm, he would have dragged her to that dinner and shown her off.”

“Oh,” Q said again and fell silent.

He was relieved to see their cottage as it came into sight.

“You didn’t have to do any of this tonight, Bond,” said Q as he watched Bond unlock the door and step in first to check before they entered the foyer, “this went far beyond the call of duty, but… thank you.”

_Even if you probably didn’t mean half of what you said back there._

“No need to thank me,” said Bond, locking the door securely behind them, “but you’re welcome. It’s a small recompense for everything you’ve done for me, Q.”

“It’s my job to oversee you in the field as needed, 007,” said Q dryly as he began to take off his coat.

Bond turned back to look at him. “And outside work?”

Q considered. “Of course, I’d still do what I can to help you,” he said. “If you need me.”

“Exactly my point,” said Bond, nodding. “So why think I’d do it any differently?”

Q opened his mouth, then shut it. How could he put it into words that he’d been glad to help Bond when he needed him and had not expected anything in return? This was why he couldn’t see past this thing that Bond had presented to him, like a fabulous gift that had come from nowhere. It was as though they were…friends.

“Of course, the cherry on top of the cake this evening would have been if you allowed me to kiss you,” said Bond next.

Then again, they were back to square one. “Bond—”

Bond reached out a finger to poke Q on the side of the forehead. “It would have gone there,” he said softly. “I can promise you that would have cost your friend an entire night’s sleep.”

 _Not as much as it would cost me,_ thought Q wryly.

He tried for archness. “I appreciate your repeated kind offer, but it just won’t be necessary—”

“I wasn’t being kind.”

It was difficult making out Bond’s features in the shadows of the foyer, but his tone gave Q pause.

“Well. Perhaps there might be some use for it in future,” Q said awkwardly, giving voice to the first thing that came to mind. He was too busy thinking that he ought to get as far away as possible from Bond. It was either that or he closed the space between them.

“We’ll never know. I’m looking forward to it,” said Bond as he finally moved toward the living room, and in the soft lamplight, his face and tone of voice were once again his own. “Good night then, Q.”

* * *

 

 **More Author's Notes:** The surnames Fisher and St. John Smythe were actually used by Bond as aliases in the Fleming books. Click here for [the list](https://www.sporcle.com/games/Edelweiss/the_names_bray_hilary_bray).

Also, channeling Bond as James Fisher like 

[ Here's](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/post/185315630781/teaser-for-ch-9-of-my-00q-fic-his-keeper) the teaser for the next chapter. Please drop by [my tumblr](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/) for updates and teasers. Enjoy!


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Notes:** Aand here's the next chapter! Enjoy! Thanks so much for the kind messages. Follow me at [my tumblr](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/) for updates and teasers. I usually post teasers for the next chapter a few days after an update, at the end of the latest installment, so please stay tuned. More notes at the end.

* * *

 

When they started this venture, Q worried that he would have too much empty time in his hands—vast stretches of hours with no computer and no internet, with his security clearance at work suspended. It was unthinkable. His mind, long used to multitasking and heavy, intellectual work, would tear itself to pieces at the prospect of nothing to occupy it. Even worse, he wondered how he was going to survive a desert waste of an evening, perhaps night after night, with nothing but Bond, Bond, Bond to take up his attention. It would be torture beyond comprehension.

Yet here he was, busily preparing supper in anticipation of Moneypenny’s arrival. Time had seemed to breeze by. He and Bond had hurdled their first full day together, as eventful as everything was totally unexpected, and Q was pleasantly surprised to realize they had got something good and easy going between them.

The dreaded dinner with Alexandre had turned into something else altogether. It had opened doors between them that he had difficulty shutting now. Moreover, he found that he was slowly unwinding with Bond, all his awkward defensiveness shelved for the time being.

Bond, for his part, was behaving beautifully. He sat as he was bid at the dining table with nothing stronger than a glass of red wine before him, talking shop while Q had the salmon in the grill and was starting on the pasta.

“I didn’t know you can prepare a full dinner like this in under one hour,” remarked Bond, pausing from their earnest discussion of various firearms that Q had equipped with the latest sensors as he was given the raw green salad to toss, and only after he quipped that he was not contributing to the meal ahead.

Q shrugged. “There’s nothing to it. The pasta is just garlic and lemon.” He paused as he sipped from his glass of white wine. “I cook when I have time, which isn’t often. I hope you don’t mind, Bond? This might seem almost vegetarian to you.”

Bond scoffed. “I suppose I ought to give my heart a holiday as well,” he said.

Q knew Bond meant his cholesterol, yet the short silence that followed his words seemed unusual, impregnated with a different meaning altogether. It was something that Bond was good at doing. Q wasn’t even sure if he was being deliberate.

 _Please don’t go there,_ Q thought, sighing inwardly. _This, whatever this is that currently exists between us, is already perfect as it is._

“Well,” he said at last and a touch too brightly. “I hope you like fish, because I do have some recipes we can delve into in the coming days.”

Bond merely gazed at him, an eyebrow raised, his expression watchful. For a moment, Q feared he would obstinately go back to whatever it was he’d meant to raise with his innuendo, but after a moment more, he let it drop.

“I can’t really say I do,” Bond finally replied.

Q smiled, almost grateful that their conversation was back on track. “You haven’t tasted my cod simmered in sweet soy sauce yet,” he said.

* * *

 Moneypenny arrived at half past eight, as promised. From the moment she stepped out of the car, Q knew something was up.

“Oh,” he said, shoulders slumping at the sound of a deep bark as she let something out from the back seat. “Oh, _no.”_

He already had a suspicion as to who Rufus was, but it was disconcerting to see it materialize before him in the form of a huge golden retriever.

“le Carré will tear him to ribbons,” he sighed but he was already reaching out a hand to pat the creature awkwardly on the head as they moved into the house.

“And hello to you,” said Moneypenny brightly to Q after greeting Bond, who was now busy giving Rufus a full body stroking. “Glad to see you’re holding up. Has your keeper been treating you well?”

“Well enough. My…keeper and I are holding out just fine, as you can see,” said Q warmly. “Lovely to see you, Moneypenny.”

Moneypenny gave him a fond, knowing look just as she raised a hand that held his computer bag. “You’re welcome,” she said as he moved to embrace his bag, holding it to him like a jar of candy.

“He’s supposed to be on holiday,” said Bond, scowling.

“He hasn’t got back his full security clearance so he won’t be working much yet,” clarified Moneypenny, “but M needs him to start on certain areas.”

“Of course,” said Q, sounding almost relieved. “Dinner, then?”

“Famished,” replied Moneypenny, smiling.

Dinner went down very well. The conversation was lively, largely dominated by Bond and Moneypenny’s particular brand of flirtatious banter. Rufus made the rounds, tail wagging, acclimatizing himself to the company while Q had to lock the cats up in his bedroom. Just how they were going to make this work, Q had no idea.

They held off all discussion of work until afterward when the dishes had been cleared from the table, leaving only the wine.

“Of course they haven’t been able to trace the perpetrator yet but an internal investigation has been started involving the senior officers at Q branch and just about everyone who knows your true identity,” said Moneypenny to Q. “It might take a while. Months. Maybe even years. Unless there’s another attack.”

“I can’t be on leave indefinitely,” said Q, “and I will not be harried like a fox before hounds. The sooner I get back to work, the better for everyone involved.”

Moneypenny nodded. “A service flat has been prepared for you and we’ve started moving some of your things. The stuff that hadn’t been destroyed by the blast, that is. And you will need to be chauffeured to and from work. No more taking the Tube for you.”

Q nodded, mouth tight.

“Any word about the bomb’s manufacture?” Bond asked.

“It’s nothing complicated,” said Moneypenny. “It could have been assembled anywhere in the UK. There is no indication of any outside involvement.”

“That’s good to hear, in a way.”

“I think it was just meant to scare you, give you a jolt,” Moneypenny told Q. “One can even say it was quite…amateurish. Anyway, M asked me to deliver this to you, for your eyes only.”

She handed him a packet, obviously containing handwritten instructions, to be destroyed after he’d read them.

“We’re back to delving in print,” she said wryly and Q grimaced. “Anyway, how are you lads holding up so far?”

Bond and Q exchanged glances.

“We’re fine,” said Bond.

“Well,” said Q diffidently almost at the same time as Bond.

Moneypenny cast a glance from one to the other. “What does that mean?”

“I suppose we ought to—?” Q looked questioningly at Bond.

“No,” Bond cut in shortly. “We’ve got this.”

“What is it?” Moneypenny said, intrigued.

“It’s nothing,” Bond replied.

Q took the plunge. “We met someone I knew from years ago. He is holidaying here as well.”

Moneypenny’s eyes went wide _. “What?”_

“It’s just a coincidence. He is not going to be a problem,” said Bond. “There is no need to alter our plans.”

Q nodded vigorously. “Exactly,” he said. “He will be gone before we know it.”

Moneypenny stared at them, clearly at a loss. “M will have to know about this,” she said.

“No,” said Bond and Q almost simultaneously.

“Nothing was compromised,” Bond added.

“And if it does come to that, you will inform M?”

“Of course,” replied Bond shortly. “What do you take me for?”

Moneypenny stared at him askance for a moment, eyes wide, as though Bond had gone mad. Q could tell that she was putting two and two together and coming out with not quite the number he was hoping for.

“We will inform you and M if we do feel the need to have the mission aborted,” said Q reasonably. “It’s so well put together that it would be a shame for us to abandon it without any firm basis.”

“The local office will also be checking in on you,” Moneypenny reminded them. “They’re the only ones who know you’re here apart from us.”

“Of course.”

“All right then. I have to go, my flight back to London is in one hour. I’ve got you an extra suitcase of things from your place, in case you’ll need them,” said Moneypenny, nodding to Q. “I got everything together from your bedroom. Come help me with it? It’s still in the car.”

They left Bond at the front door as Moneypenny opened the back of the car.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Q?” she asked softly. It was not like her to be so stealthy around Bond.

“Perfectly so, please don’t worry.”

She cast him a concerned look. “The way you exploded at Bond in the office…”

“I was feeling a tad stressed at the time, sorry.”

"Is that all?"

Q could feel his face flushing in the darkness. "Of course," he said. "What else is there?"

Moneypenny eyed him sympathetically. “He can be…intense, you know, for someone who’s not used to him,” she said. “Jesus, the way he was going on earlier. You’d think he needs to protect you from _us.”_

“I’m sure that’s not the case,” argued Q. “He’s just being…007.”

“Well, in case he becomes too much of a handful…”

“Right.” Q nodded. “I won’t let him boss me around.”

Moneypenny gave him a wry smile. “That wasn’t what I meant,” she said, but before Q could ask her what she _did_ mean by that, she continued, “let me report to M about this encounter with your friend. Otherwise he will have your arse on a platter the longer you put it off.”

“All right,” said Q. “It’s not as if we mean to keep it a secret, but I do want to let you know that Bond was…a great help.”

“Good.” Moneypenny shut the boot of the car and walked over to the front.

“Well, I’m off. Take care, you two,” she called. “Thank you for the lovely dinner, Q.”

“You're welcome. Thanks very much for dropping by,” said Q as he walked over to her, the small suitcase in hand.

“Call if you need anything,” she said.

Moneypenny was about to get into the car when Bond said, “By the way. Emily. Were you able to retrieve her?”

“Yes, we did,” said Moneypenny, smiling as she eyed Bond. “She’s reunited with her family now, thanks to you. Well, ta, then.”

“Drive safe,” said Bond.

Q watched the car’s taillights disappear into the darkness of the tree-lined avenue beyond the cottage before he turned back to enter the house with Bond.

There were several things that needed to be discussed but Q was up for only one that night.

“Just so we’re clear,” he said before Bond could say anything, “the cats were here first. So if there’s any trouble with the canine, your friend goes. Fair?”

Bond smiled. “Fair enough. You don’t know Rufus. Oh, and you won’t start with your computers until tomorrow.”

“I will just be setting up—”

“Tomorrow,” said Bond. “Otherwise you won’t be getting any sleep tonight, knowing you.”

 _Do you?_ Q wondered.

It was time that he put his foot down. Aloud he said, “I appreciate your concern, but kindly do not presume to tell me what to do in matters concerning my job. Good night, 007.”

* * *

He started unpacking the contents of the messenger bag in the spare room that would serve as his office: his phone and two laptops. His had been destroyed during the blast, the screen almost entirely ripped off. Opening the new one, he was relieved to see that they had managed to salvage and install the original drive into it. The second one was issued by Q branch and personally put together by R, according to M’s missive.

M’s message contained two pages of instructions which took Q almost a minute to go through, then he set the papers on top of the hob and watched as they burst into flame and curled into black cinders in the sink before he washed out the dregs.

Lastly, he took the small suitcase to his bedroom, unease curling in his gut at the thought that it took Moneypenny to personally assemble this bit of baggage on his behalf. He already knew what was inside. He had been so frazzled when he’d packed, and they were in such a hurry. It had made him careless; he’d had no idea that he would not be returning to his own home, or that people would be swarming all over it due to the blast. There had been one or two things that he ought not to have left behind.

And sure enough, there it was, discreetly wrapped and nestled in more of his cardigans and a night shirt and pajama or two. Q could feel his face grow hot with mortification at the idea of it being discovered in his dresser, even if it was by a friend whom he could trust. It was stupid of him to have left behind his toy, accompanied by a box of condoms and a bottle of lube. Yet how could he possibly think to bring these things with him here? Now that they were here, they could remain nowhere else.

He made a mental note to send Moneypenny a gift in return, for being nothing if not considerate and tactful.

* * *

Q snapped awake precisely at 8 am, to the tune of an incoming message on his phone.

_Video conference in one hour. Please confirm. –M_

_And good morning to you, too, sir,_ thought Q sourly as he replied with an affirmative.

He emerged from the bedroom to find a note on the dining table.

_Out with Rufus. Be back in an hour. Make sure the doors stay locked._

Well, that settled it. He had the entire morning to himself, and while the thought of it brought largely relief, there was a tincture of disappointment in it, too.

He fixed himself some jam on toast and a cup of Earl Grey as he got the computers ready. The cats would be staying in with him until he could talk to Bond about laying out the territory for their respective animals.

Rummaging in his bags, he realized to his chagrin that he did not have an earpiece to plug in for private conferences. Great. Just great. He would just have to shut the door, then.

M came on exactly at 9 am with very little preamble, “What’s this tomfoolery I’ve heard concerning your meeting an old acquaintance of yours?”

“Good morning, sir,” Q said pleasantly, thinking he had a long hour ahead of him, and proceeded to bring M to scratch with a colorless version of events involving Alexandre.

It was no surprise that M wanted a sweep over Alexandre’s background as well.

“You didn’t have to have dinner with the man,” said M disapprovingly. “007’s idea?”

“He wanted to case the man personally, sir, and I do agree—”

“We can do it on our end without any further contact,” said M. “You merely have to report it to me.”

Q nodded emphatically. “And that is exactly how it will be from now on, sir. 007 also concluded that he poses a very minimal risk—”

“You are the Quartermaster, Colin, and 007’s superior officer,” reminded M. “You should be able to manage him better.”

Q tightened his mouth against the retort that threatened to leave his tongue. Just whose idea was it to assign 007 to him and to leave him with no say as to the layout of this mission?

“Yes, sir,” he merely said.

“You can’t give him free rein to do as he pleases. You know how he operates—” M got that far before Q thought to lower the volume on his computer. At the rate he was going, M’s voice could be heard all the way down the street, for all Q could ascertain.

“—pose a challenge to your authority,” M finished in a much lower decibel.

“I understand, sir,” he replied evenly. “If I may remind you, I did object to 007 being assigned to me.”

There was silence as M stared at him, perhaps in disbelief.

Q pressed on, “but so far, 007 has not done anything without my express sanction. We planned every step together. Therefore I will accept responsibility for whatever consequence that may arise from our joint action.”

M breathed out a long sigh, looking slightly mollified. “All right,” he said. “But I shall speak to him at the end of our session. Let’s now turn our attention to the first matter at hand…”

* * *

It took an hour just as he’d figured, and Q was more than ready for a short break when he finally stepped out of his office.

Rufus immediately came over, nosing into Q’s hand inquisitively, seeking treats. So 007 was back, thought Q before he switched his attention once again to the golden retriever as he ran awkward hands over the abundant soft fur just as Bond had done last night. God, he was so _big_. Just a swish of his energetic tail could knock over things. Q was not used to dogs. He was wary of their size, their loudness, their overwhelming need for attention.  Q closed the door to the office before Rufus could detect the cats and finally went in search of Bond. 

“Bond?” called Q as he moved through the house and, when the man was nowhere to be found, he made his way toward 007’s room.

The door was ajar, and Q did not think to slow down until he saw Bond walk into sight inside the bedroom, fresh from the shower and clad in nothing but a towel around his waist, water droplets on his skin and hair dripping as he ran a hand absently over the short strands.

 _“Oh.”_ Q braked abruptly, looking away before he could even think it through. Ruthlessly, he quashed the apology, also reflexive, that threatened to tumble from his lips.

He owed Bond no apology, especially as he realized almost instantly that this was probably staged by the man himself. And if this were the case, 007 had in all probability overheard M’s little homily together with his stinging reply earlier and was now testing him. Taunting him. _Manage this, Quartermaster_. Q would still himself and not bolt down the corridor like some raw, frightened virgin. He would not give Bond that satisfaction.

 _Manage him,_ M had said. And he would, in his own way.

“Yes, Q?” Bond was smiling as he nonchalantly made his way over to Q, and Q could easily imagine him arriving home from his walk with Rufus, hand perhaps stretched out to knock on Q’s door before M’s voice on the other side stopped him.

 _Bastard,_ thought Q. Mouth twisting, he lifted his head to regard Bond wryly as he stuck his hands on each side of his waist. For the moment, he did not know where his eyes ought to land so he settled on Bond’s face.

“Do you make a habit of listening at doors?” Q asked, not mincing words. “A spy doing the thing he does best, perhaps?”

He’d half-expected Bond to deny it, but Bond’s smile only stretched wider as he leaned a hand against the door frame, clearly a challenge, and clearly enjoying that moment of seeing Q flustered. He was all smooth ropes of muscle, his broad chest and abs well-toned and surprisingly and pleasingly sparse of hair. Damn, _damn._ “Perhaps you and M ought to keep your voices down,” he merely said.

His eyes were so incredibly blue against the morning light, and Q was starting to learn how to detect minute traces carefully hidden in their cool depths. Traces of displeasure, perhaps even of anger.

“Point taken. I ought to have a headset the next time we do a video conference or perhaps stuff the doorway with towels,” said Q shortly. “Anyway, M would like a word with you.”

Bond nodded. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Call him back when you’re ready. And kindly close your door the next time you mean to take a shower.”

Bond paused as he turned back to regard Q. “Why?” he said, eyes innocently wide. “You can look all you want. We’re married, after all.”

Q smiled at Bond sweetly. “Try harder, Bond. I’m sure inspiration will strike, the longer you keep at it.”

That earned Q a smile from Bond, and when he did, Q saw something shift in Bond’s gaze, the raw traces of emotion clearing from his eyes.

So they were at it again, hiding behind familiar banter. He already missed the easy, open affability between them that had somehow been dispelled by the intrusion of work and real life expectations.

 _Get used to it,_ Q thought grimly to himself. There was no point in getting carried away by something that wasn’t even real. That was the danger with Bond, though. With this man, Q just wasn’t sure what he’d end up giving of himself.

 _Everything, and then some more_ , he thought, watching Bond emerge from his five minute conversation with M, cool as a cucumber, M’s reprimands rolling off him like water off a duck’s back.

God help him, he was so _fucked._

“M says I have you to thank for having my back,” Bond informed Q.

“It’s the other way around,” Q murmured. “Bond…”

Time seemed to stretch out around the ten seconds of silence that followed as Q tried to lend words to his thoughts. Bond waited, his gaze still as it settled on Q.

“I meant it when I said I didn’t want you here,” he said, “but only because your services would be wasted in babysitting me when you could be out there, doing much bigger things in the field on more important assignments.”

“You thought I was toying with you,” said Bond.

“Yes, well,” Q floundered, “that, too. But now that you’re here, I’m…glad. We work well together, just as we always have.”

More beats of silence. Bond was not helping at all.  

“And I’m not M,” said Q finally. “I have my own way of doing things.”

Bond seemed to understand what he was trying to say and not say at the same time. Until then, Q had never realized that the arctic blue of Bond’s eyes was a warm color.

Bond nodded, then corrected him by saying, “we do things our way.”

“Our way,” Q agreed after a moment.

He wasn’t sure what their way even was. They were so different from each other, like cats and dogs; yet they would make whatever it was between them work. It was already working.

That was all that mattered to him. Anything else between them would just have to be kept at bay.

* * *

 

 **Author's Notes** : A **hob** is the British equivalent of a stovetop. Aand here's the inspiration for Bond's affinity to golden retrievers:

  

Here's the [**teaser**](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/post/185517267066/teaser-for-ch-10-of-my-00q-fic-his-keeper) for the next chapter!


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Notes:** Thank you so much to everyone who sent the Muse some love (and caffeine)! See how it galvanizes her to churn out chapter after chapter! Here's the next one, I hope you guys will enjoy! And of course, join me at [**my tumblr**](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/) for updates and teasers, or if you just want to discuss anything concerning the fic. Comments here are also appreciated, as always.

* * *

 “All right, Bond,” said Q, his voice tense. “Are you ready?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” came Bond’s reply from the living room.

“This is _not_ going to end well,” said Q as he glanced down at what he held.

“Just get over here, Q.”

“Okay, here goes,” he said, gingerly stepping out of his study and into the living room, cradling le Carré in his arms.

Bond came into view, seated on the sofa, Rufus obediently sitting on the floor beside him, tongue out and tail wagging. For a moment, le Carré stared at the newcomer with wide, startled eyes, but it was only when Rufus gave a loud bark that Q felt her tense in his arms, back arching and ears flattened as she gave a hiss. She would have leaped off his arms had Q not clamped down on her suddenly struggling form.

“Told you,” he said as he quickly dodged back into the study. “I told you this is premature! Ow!”

After a few minutes, Q emerged from the room, nursing his hand. “Dammit Bond,” he sighed. “She was just starting to loosen up.”

He watched Bond as he tried to settle Rufus down. The big boy was so excited he could scarcely contain himself. He broke from Bond’s hold to bound up to Q, nosing through his clothes and picking up the scent of cat.

Q made sure the door to his study was securely shut before he made his way over to where Bond sat. “I don’t think this is ever going to work,” he said.

“Give them some time,” said Bond as he eyed Q’s bloodied hand. “That’s a nasty looking scratch.”

“All thanks to you,” Q replied sourly, “but it’s nothing a little antiseptic can’t handle…”

He broke off as Bond’s fingers closed around his wrist in a gentle grip, pulling him in. “What are you doing?”

“Let me see,” said Bond softly, and it was all Q could do not to close his hand into a fist and twist away from Bond’s grasp. He was learning.

Standing over Bond, he let himself be examined, watching the downward sweep of blond lashes over those arctic eyes as he felt the warmth of Bond’s hand searing into his skin.

 _“Bitch,”_ Bond said, shaking his head.

“Language, Bond,” said Q in a mock-severe tone. “Here’s an important lesson: don’t keep cats if you can’t stand to be scratched.”

Q gently shook off Bond’s hand and turned to go to the bathroom in search of the antiseptic bottle. He washed up, and it took a moment to apply the liquid on the wound as he willed his hand to stop shaking.

 _Stop it,_ he told himself. _It’s high time you get a hold._

He returned to the living room, hands carefully tucked into his pockets, to find Bond had turned on the telly. ”So,” he said as he nodded toward the unassuming Rufus who was eyeing the door to Q’s study longingly. “What’s his story? You seem to know each other very well.”

“There’s not much to know, only that he’s the best sniffer dog we can ever have,” said Bond. “Rufus and I have worked together on some important assignments and so we know each other very well. He’s also used to all sorts of animals, even cats, so it’s worth it to sit back and see how things go.”

“Let’s not hold our breath,” Q said as he took a seat beside Bond, keeping a respectable distance away. “She’s got history, as I’ve already told you.”

“I don’t know why you bother, unless you’re fond of taking on difficult charity cases,” Bond said.

“It’s not that,” said Q thoughtfully. “Few could see it, but deep inside, she has a loving nature. It just takes a while to unlock her heart, but when the moment comes that she lets down her guard and decides to trust you, it’s worth it.” He paused. “It’s the same with some people, I believe. Brilliant and difficult often go hand in hand together. And this sort of people— special people— when their hearts are yours and they finally open up to you, that’s…something to live for.”

Q paused, aware that Bond was listening intently. “Anyway, she only came into my arms willingly today. And now…”

“Give him a day or two,” said Bond, nodding at Rufus.

Q eyed Bond narrowly. “You’re very sure of yourself, Bond.”

Bond looked surprised. “Always.”

Q had to smile at that. “You can't possibly know the outcome," he said.

"I don't, but I know Rufus, and I have a good feeling about his abilities."

"Is that what your famous instinct is telling you?"

"Don't underestimate it. It's kept me alive so far."

"Shall we make a bet of it then?” Q said suddenly.

Bond’s gaze immediately became assessing. “If you like.”

Q snickered. “And what are we playing for?”

“Favors, if you’re up to it,” answered Bond.

“What sort of favors? You’ve got all the weapons you’d ever want or need in your cache,” said Q wryly. “I can’t give you anything more.”

“I’m sure I’ll be able to think of something else I’d want from you,” said Bond. “What about you?”

“Hmm,” said Q as he made to think long and deep. “I’ll have to take a rain check on that. Perhaps we can start off by you taking charge of dinner one of these nights? I’m going to be pretty busy in the coming days.”

A corner of Bond’s lips tilted up. “Is that really all you want from me?”

Q glanced at him. “You’re lucky I’m not very demanding, Bond.”

“You're allowed to be," said Bond. He relented when Q fixed him with an admonishing look. "Fine. That, and the rain check.”

Q gave him a small smile. “All right,” he said.“You’ve got a deal.”

“Speaking of weaponry, you didn’t bring any of your own,” remarked Bond. “You should be armed as well.”

Q blinked. “Oh. You don’t know?” he said.

Bond stared back at him blankly.

“Well, it’s nice to know there are a couple of things that have escaped you.” Q nodded at Bond’s Walther and extended a hand.

“More than a couple, I’m sure,” said Bond as he handed over his gun. He lifted an eyebrow at the way Q expertly took it in hand, his grip steady and sure. The microdermal sensor immediately glowed green.

_Of course._

“I designed and tested this weapon personally before it could be released for you to use,” Q said softly as he cast Bond a dry, sidelong glance. “Do you really think it won’t have my dermal signature as the default code?”

“So,” said Bond, “you have access to all our weapons…?”

“Of course,” said Q simply.“I’m the skeleton key.”

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” Bond said, smiling.

Q snorted. “Hardly. Q branch is simply being practical. We can’t afford to have an expensive, inoperable weapon in our hands just in case anything happened to any of you—”

Bond’s mobile started buzzing, a familiar number on the screen.

“Your friend,” said Bond.

Q stared at Bond’s phone. “Aren’t you going to pick it up?” he said as the ringing continued.

“No,” said Bond calmly, stroking Rufus absently with one hand. “I don’t think I will.”

The ringing finally stopped, the sudden silence that ensued dispelling their earlier camaraderie.

Q returned Bond’s weapon and glanced at his watch awkwardly. “Well. Time to go back to work, I think. Those tracers should be finished by now and I will need to run a systems-wide diagnostic afterward.”

Bond watched as Q beat a hasty retreat before turning his attention back to the smooth surface of his mobile, the screen now gone dark.

How long was the bastard going to keep trying before he got it? Bond wondered, feeling that dark curl of anger inside him once again.

It was about as ridiculous as that flare of anger he had felt when he’d overheard M lecturing to Q about managing him. He wasn’t even going to think about the hurt that had cut surprisingly deep when he had overheard Q’s response and how he had objected to his inclusion in the current assignment.

He recognized the symptoms all too clearly and decided that it was time for a walk to clear his head.

* * *

Dusk was settling in as he circled the perimeters of the cottage with Rufus. So far everything was all right. Q had better surveillance equipment installed but its scope was limited to the house’s immediate surroundings. There was no accounting for bombs planted nearby but just out of sight.

Rounding the back of the house, Bond paused by the window of Q’s study and peered in. Q had lit the lamps inside so that warm yellow light flooded the room but he was oblivious, completely absorbed in his work as he bent over his computers. He’d been at it for hours and he would be hours at his desk still.

Bond stood outside quietly, the thick bulletproof glass between them, thinking as he gazed into the room that held this extraordinary young man that an insurmountable gulf of differences lay between them. Differences, perhaps, that were best left alone.

Of all people, he thought bemusedly, why did it have to be his quartermaster?

Bond had been through this numerous times to know it for what it was, yet _infatuation_ seemed like such a tame word for what he was feeling for this man.

It had been building between them, bit by bit, ever since that first meeting at the National Gallery. That initial spark of attraction had never quite left them in their many interactions since then. It was evident every time they sparred verbally. It was there in Q’s every sidelong glance; his every involuntary reaction to him— an intoxicating flirtation that skimmed just beneath the surface of their words; their private little dance that nobody else could see.

Yet just where it all may lead eluded Bond.

Perhaps he should not dig in further. Perhaps he ought to have passed over this assignment when M had summoned him, but that would have been like a moth being impervious to the lure of the flame. And if he needed any sign that he wasn’t the only one to feel this way, Q raised his head just then, entirely unbidden as though he’d sensed Bond’s presence all on his own. Catching sight of him outside his window, Q gave him a faint smile and a small movement of one hand that signified a greeting, tentative and shy.

In the course of the past few days, they’d gotten used to each other enough so that Q no longer startled at his slightest move, like a trapped bird. Yet he remembered the feel of Q’s pulse, rabbit-fast beneath his fingertips, as he held Q’s limp wrist in his hand.

It had intrigued and amused him to pull certain responses from Q time and again in the past two years, yet now Bond realized that he might be the one who was in serious trouble here as all the fragments of their half-flirtations and the brushed-aside feelings for this beautiful, brilliant and unattainable man finally coalesced into pure want.

He watched as Q got up from his desk, gathering up le Carré who was apparently on his lap. Slowly Q approached the window, murmuring soothingly to the cat that he held so tenderly in his arms. Bond reached down beside him to alert Rufus, who obligingly set two huge paws on the windowpane and hauled himself up so that he, too, could peer in.

Safe in Q’s arms, le Carré stared, fascinated, at the golden creature barking excitedly at her through the window. Q’s smile turned into a grin of delight when she did nothing but meow tentatively back. 

Catching Q’s radiant gaze, Bond smiled.

 _Perhaps one more day_ , thought Bond as he watched Q bend down to nuzzle his cat, kissing her head with soft, red lips.

One more day and he would have his prize.

* * *

 Here are  **[teaser](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/post/185565177596/teaser-for-ch-11-of-my-00q-fic-his-keeper)1** and [teaser 2](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/post/185565177596/teaser-for-ch-11-of-my-00q-fic-his-keeper) for the next chapter! And so it begins! Enjoy!


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Notes:** Aaand here comes another chapter! It's only going to grow hotter from here on! Special thanks to my dear friend, **[PlumpPushu](https://plumppushu.tumblr.com/)**, for the French translations! You can find the meaning of the translations at the end. Enjoy! Drop me a line or follow me at [**my tumblr**](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/) for updates and teasers, or if you want to show some love for the Muse. We'd appreciate it! ^_~

* * *

 “Q.”

Q was so absorbed in his work that the sudden sound of Bond’s voice was like the crack of a gunshot. Q jerked his head up, startled. “Yes, 007?” he said almost reflexively.

Bond stood by the doorway. “It’s almost two in the afternoon and you’ve not had lunch,” he pointed out disapprovingly.

“Oh.” Q gestured toward his earpiece. “This is rather important.”

“It’s not a live transmission, is it?”

“No, it’s recorded—”

“Then it can wait thirty minutes,” said Bond inexorably as he stepped into the room, holding up a bag of Chinese takeout.

Q could not help but smile. “For a minute there I actually thought you cooked lunch,” he said. The words were out of his mouth before he registered the teasing tone he’d used.

Bond’s lips tilted up in that familiar smirk. “I don’t cook, I reheat,” he clarified, sitting himself opposite Q and watching as Q paused from his work and took out the paper cartons of food. He shook his head when Q tentatively offered the food to him. “Don’t worry about me, I’ve already eaten.”

Q did not realize he was hungry until his first mouthful of lemon chicken. They sat in companionable silence for a while, watching le Carré and Asimov on their new perch right beside the window, tails twitching lazily as they studied Rufus in the garden with all the haughty aloofness of aristocrats inspecting a peasant.

“This…certainly seems like one step in the right direction,” said Q.

Bond grunted. “Maybe we can let Rufus into the room and see how it goes.”

“That would be overly optimistic at this point, I think,” said Q, his attention already back on his laptop.

“What are you doing?” said Bond. “You’ve not left your desk for the better part of six hours.”

Q gave a small shrug. “Reviewing footage,” he said, his voice distant. “I just received the files from M this morning.”

“Whose?” Bond wanted to know.

“003’s last mission,” replied Q, not looking at him.

“Let me see it,” said Bond.

Q finally glanced at him. “You’re right,” he said. “Perhaps I ought to finish lunch first.”

He turned 003’s last video transmission back to the beginning and gave Bond his laptop. He watched, chewing his food slowly, as Bond scanned the scenes from the elegant soiree the night before 003’s mission suddenly went to hell.

“Do you recognize anyone there?” Q asked.

“I’ll let you know if I do,” said Bond.

“I’ll leave you to it for a while, then.”

Q made his way to the kitchen to make himself some fresh tea. As he waited for the water to boil in the electric kettle, he stretched, getting rid of the kinks at the back of his neck, his shoulders, while his mind was far away.

There was something in 003’s transmission that was deeply troubling.

He made his tea and returned just in time to see Bond come across that particular segment in the video.

 _“Dit salut à mon bébé d’amour pour moi, d’accord?”_ said a handsome blond man in a tux as he raised a flute of champagne at 003.

A tinkle of laughter from 003: _“Je comprends pas.”_

The blond stranger gave her an easy, lopsided smile. _“Bien sûr que non, chéri, ignore ce que je te dis. Je suis seulement un peu sentimental ce soir.”_

“Who is this?” inquired Bond, frowning.

Q shook his head. “We’re still tracing him. An acquaintance, probably an arms dealer. Apparently 003 was also surprised by his words and provided only scant details about him. His name is Armand, but that’s probably an alias.”

“He’s aware of the glasses,” said Bond, scowling. “He’s sending a message, but for whom?”

“We’re looking into it now,” was all Q said, gaze averted.

Bond said nothing as the clip came to an end and merely tapped the keyboard to proceed to the next video, 003’s very last.

Gunshots suddenly erupted from Q’s laptop, and Q sprang forward from his seat. “Bond,” he said. “No.”

Bond ignored him as the video from 003’s transmitter glasses wobbled and tilted when she hit the ground. She was able to take down three assailants as she turned and ran from the rendezvous point. They got to her farther down the street.

 _“Fuck, Q, I’m hit,”_ she hissed into her earwig.

 _“003.”_ Q could hear himself saying in the comm. He could remember that very moment, dread piercing him the way the bullets did 003. _“I’m here. Stay calm. Can you make it back to the safe house?”_

“Bond,” said Q sternly as he rounded the table.

 _“How could they possibly—”_ Here, 003 gave out a soft grunt, the only indication that she had been hit in the chest, just under her left clavicle.

 _“—Contacting 007 now. Emily!”_ Q could hear himself say.

“Bond!” Q reached out to turn off the video and Bond shot out a hand to stop him.

“Why won’t you let me see this?” Bond asked.

Q merely bit his lip, his fingers still imprisoned in Bond’s grip as they stared each other down for a few seconds. When they turned back to the video, 003 had got into the safe house.

 _“Oh god,”_ she panted, her voice already breathy. “ _It hurts. It hurts so much, Q…”_

 _“Stay with me, Emily,”_ Q’s voice was soothing, even though he knew from her smartblood profile that her lung had been punctured. _“You are doing so well, so very well. Try to staunch the blood flow. Can you apply some pressure on the wound?”_

003 moaned as she took an agonizing drag of breath. Q disengaged himself from Bond’s hold and returned to his seat.

He could hear his own voice say, _“You are doing good, Emily. You’ve accomplished so much. 007 is on his way, ETA five minutes. We’re going to get you out of there.”_

_“I don’t think…I’ll make it. So much blood…”_

_“Don’t say that. I’m not leaving my girl behind. 007…James is coming. He’ll take care of you.”_

Bond shot Q a look that he did not return. He sat there, staring woodenly at the cats by the window, as he heard 003 whisper, _“James. Oh god. I should have just…that last time we…”_

 _“That last time what, my dear?”_ Q’s voice was very tender.

003 spluttered out laughter. _“I’m dying, and all I can think about is...James. Should have just kissed…that bastard…”_

Q could feel Bond’s gaze boring into the side of his head, but he flatly refused to meet his gaze. He could remember switching back and forth between 003’s and 007’s comms at that point as he gave Bond instructions to get to Emily.

 _"Why..."_ breathed 003. _"Why... didn't I...just a kiss..."_

_"He's on his way, Emily."_

At last, there was the sound of the door opening in the video and 007 rushing into the room. Q could remember giving him more instructions which 003 blessedly never got the chance to hear as Bond divested her of her tech.

_“Ems.”_

_"Last year...Christmas,"_ 003 rasped. _"When I...said don't...be an arse. I take it...back."_

Q finally glanced at Bond’s stunned visage as everything finally came full circle for him.

 _"The kiss,"_ she said. _"I...we should have just..."_

 _"Ssshh, I got you,"_ said Bond, his voice as gentle and soothing as Q’s as he leaned down to kiss her goodbye. _"You did well, Ems."_

_"Tell Q...thank you. For staying...with me."_

"Bond," said Q quietly. “Please.”

Bond finally ended the clip. “Why won’t you let me see this?” he demanded again.

“As you can see, the conversation was…rather private,” said Q defensively.

“You were both talking about _me.”_

“Well, it’s not as if we were badmouthing you,” Q snapped, more annoyed than he had any reason to be.  “If anything, we should be awarding you all the medals.”

Christ, that was mean, but he was in no mood to argue with Bond. His eyes felt hot, stinging; his throat was threatening to close. He removed his glasses and made to polish them on a clean kerchief, taking his time. When he put them back on he was more composed.

“At any rate, Emily succeeded in her mission. And you’ll be pleased to know that you were right in another area as well,” he said.

It was almost a relief to move on, yet it gave Q no pleasure to announce what was coming next. “It was Bill Campbell all along,” he continued. “He did sell me out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite,” said Q dispassionately. “There’s a recently opened bitcoin account under his sister-in-law’s name that managed to rake in the equivalent of over several million US dollars in three weeks’ time. It’s all very under-the-table, dark web stuff.”

“Fuck, so he’s already sold some information,” growled Bond.

“I’ve passed it on to M,” Q said, his voice neutral.“We’ll just have to wait for the sting operation that’s going to be carried out. In the meantime, there is more work to be done. Now can I please have my laptop back, 007?”

Bond smirked. “What happened to James?” he teased.

Q gave an elaborate sigh.“Now is not the time for frivolity, but if you insist,” he said. “Can I please have my laptop back, _James?”_

“I like it when you say my name,” said Bond as he handed over Q’s computer.

Q twisted his mouth at him but decided not to comment.

“You ought to prioritize the search for that man’s identity,” Bond recommended, “because anyone who’d deign to call anyone else ‘my darling babe’ is a fucking creep.”

“Needless to say, I am on it,” Q replied pleasantly.

And he was. Already, a niggling suspicion was forming ominously at the back of his mind. He had, after all, numerous enemies online, many of them creeps just like this one. Given the series of incidents that had occurred immediately after 003’s mission, the man’s appearance in the video could not be a coincidence. That pretty little speech in French was intended for him and him alone.

 _Shit shit shit!_ Q thought.

It better not be who he thought it was.

* * *

It had been years since he’d done this and it would take some time for Q to immerse himself in his old haunts in the dark web and find that bloody little shit. But find him he must, and find him he will.

He did not realize it had got quite dark outside until the alarm in his phone buzzed, making him jump. Someone was at the door. He looked at the videocam images but it was only 007, back from his walk with Rufus. They had not been out long and Q figured they must have gone to a favorite hangout of Rufus’ just a few blocks from the cottage where there was a clearing and some trees for him to romp around in.

His door opened slightly and he glanced at it, expecting Bond to come in any moment. What he did not expect was Rufus nosing his way in.

“Oh,” he said, pulling himself to his feet as Rufus came bounding in, tail wagging furiously. “Oh no. Bond!”

“There’s no time like the present,” said Bond as he stepped in.

“They’ll be all over the place,” complained Q. “I haven’t got—”

Sure enough the cats were thrown into a proper hissy fit at the sight of him, but Rufus stopped a few feet from them and did a roll on the ground, exposing his belly. The cats froze and stared at Rufus and so did Q.

“What the—” Q turned to Bond, who merely smiled.

Rufus rolled right back up and went to Bond, sitting himself by his side. Obviously, the clever boy knew what he was doing.

“I think we can let them be in the same room from now on,” said Bond. “Now how about dinner?”

* * *

After dinner, Q had to take a call from M. No video, thank goodness. The conversation was terse, not to mention tense, but it helped him somewhat to watch Rufus dragging his belly across the floor as he tried to inch his way up to the two feline overlords still on their window perch.

Bond sat across from him, nursing a glass of scotch, watching him as he murmured, “yes, sir…of course, sir…yes, it will be dealt with. I’ve already started a sweep…yes. I will, sir…our new facial recognition software would make it easier to trace him...”

Q tore out the earpiece once the call was finished and made to rub his eyes behind his glasses. He was very, very tired.

“You should call it a day,” said Bond.

“I’ll be several hours, still,” said Q.

“At least take a break.”

Q removed his gaze from the computer and settled it on Bond. “I suppose I can afford a few minutes,” he said. He nodded at Bond’s drink. “May I have some of that, please?”

Bond smiled as he poured him a glass. They sat quietly for a while longer, sipping their drinks.

Q was just feeling the tension slip away from his shoulder blades when Bond said, gesturing at Rufus and the cats, “I suppose we can brand this experiment a success.”

Q made a noncommittal noise as the scotch slowly worked its way to his bloodstream. The warmth spreading within him felt good. “You and your instinct,” said Q. “First, Campbell. Now, this. Are you ever wrong, Bond?”

Bond snorted. “More times than I could count,” he said, his voice quietly rueful.

Q was silent for a moment longer, then: “He can do a lot of damage, but I suppose it could be worse. At least I can quickly override anything he’s messed up in the system. It’s all my design, after all. But if it had been R, or Henry…”

“Q Branch is lucky to have you as Quartermaster,” said Bond simply.

“Oh, hush,” said Q, smiling despite himself. “How much are you charging so I may pay you for the compliment?”  

“Well,” Bond said. “You do owe me a favor, seeing as how I won our bet.”

“I suppose,” Q said slowly, only half of his attention trained on Bond as he scrolled down the contents on his laptop screen.

“I’ll be claiming my prize now, if you don’t mind.”

“What?” Q turned to look at Bond and something in the man’s gaze made him stop what he was doing.

Somehow, he knew what was coming next. “Oh. Well, congratulations, Bond. I’m sure I have an array of goodies from Q branch to tempt you with.”

Bond was not having any of Q’s attempts to brush it all off.  “I think you already know what I want from you,” he said.

Q tried to stall. “First pick of any of the new semi-automatic rifles equipped with AI sensors? They’re due out next month. Take it or leave it. I know 009 is going to snap up the—”

Bond smiled. “Bribing me with the latest tech isn’t going to work.”

Q abruptly dropped his innocent act and glared at Bond instead. “Look here, Bond,” he said, his tone severe. “This is childish—”

Bond scoffed. “Don’t tell me you’re _scared.”_

“Yes, this is, in fact, quite childish,” Q said, yet he could not help but square his shoulders at Bond’s taunt.

“Well, if you’re _not_ scared,” said Bond, his voice low, almost a growl, “then come here and give me that kiss.”

“Oh, for god’s sake, Bond!” Q said, exasperated. “What is it with you and this…this illogical desire for kisses? You’ve been begging for them since day one.”

“Is it?” said Bond, his voice dangerously soft. “Illogical, I mean?”

Q opened his mouth to retort then thought better of it at the last minute. From one breath to the next, something between them had shifted, changed, grew charged.

“I’ve seen how you look at me, sometimes,” Bond continued, pinning Q with his blue gaze, “and I think you must have wondered how it might feel. I know I have.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Bond argued, never letting up. “If it means nothing at all to you, you’d do it and get it over with. Otherwise, you shouldn’t have drawn me into wagers in the first place, if you’re not prepared to see things through. _”_

Q stared at him for a moment as Bond’s words sank in. He could not account for the sudden heat in the room.

“I’m going to be very, very busy after this,” Q said, not pausing to wonder what he actually meant by that.

“Get it over with, then,” Bond replied. “I won’t keep you.”

He shouldn’t have to do this at all, Q thought. He could opt out of this game without ever playing it and just show Bond the door, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from giving in to curiosity, if nothing else.

And yet he knew there was so much more to it than mere curiosity.

Q found himself getting up and walking the few steps needed to reach Bond, his heartbeat loud in his ears. When he was near enough, Bond reached out a hand to draw him in until he stood before the man, well-muscled arms going around him, enveloping him in a warm, loose embrace.

Bond remained seated, and now he looked up at Q. “And I _never_ beg for kisses,” he said, earning him a snort from Q.

Q shifted uncomfortably but that only meant Bond tightening his arms around him even more.

“Ready? No half-arsed attempts now, unless you want to do a repeat performance,” Bond warned. “Throw your back into it, Q.”

They were so close together that Bond’s chin was resting on Q’s cardigan. Q could smell Bond’s cologne and good scotch on his breath. He found himself standing between Bond’s legs, his hands resting lightly on Bond’s shoulders— they had nowhere else to go, except maybe on the sides of Bond’s head.

Bond tilted his head up expectantly, eyes bright, and, when Q still hesitated, he said in a voice so low it was almost a purr, “come on.”

 _You know you want to,_ goaded Bond’s gaze. _Get it over with._

Face flushed and suddenly struggling to breathe, Q angled his head down awkwardly, aiming for Bond’s cheek, but Bond was having none of it. When his mouth descended, Bond rose to meet him halfway, capturing his lips in a thorough, searing kiss that offered no possibility of escape. 

* * *

  **Translations:**

Dit salut à mon bébé d’amour pour moi, d’accord -- "Say hi to my darling babe for me."

Je comprends pas-- "I don't understand."

Bien sûr que non, chéri, ignore ce que je te dis. Je suis seulement un peu sentimental ce soir.-- "Of course not, darling. Ignore me. I'm just being rather sentimental tonight."

And here's how Bond probably looks like while he's luring Q in for that kiss. Enjoy!

Aaand here's the [**teaser** ](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/post/185785178006/teaser-for-ch-12-of-my-00q-fic-his-keeper)for the next chapter!


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Notes:** Aaand here is the next chapter, which was absolutely tough to write! Anyway, I hope it's not going to be too distressing! Let me know what you guys think! 

BTW, we will be having the annual **007 fest at tumblr** in July! I've joined up this year and I will be in team 00. I'm sure we will be having lots of fun as we churn out our works and fancreations! Come and join us at [my tumblr!](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/)

* * *

 Bond watched Q come toward him, wondering why it had taken him so long to get to where they were now. This level of restraint was so unlike him. Normally he would just take what he wanted the moment he had the chance, any chance. This long wait for Q was like a courtship, an exquisite game of patience and gentleness that Bond was not used to playing.

Yet the moment had finally come: at last, Q was in his arms. He wasn’t fighting it anymore but stood in front of Bond, pliant and willing. He was so slender, his frame as delicate as a bird’s. Bond was afraid he just might crush him, if he were not careful.

 _Beautiful, brilliant Q_ , Bond thought with not a little awe as he looked up at him. Behind the glasses, the vivid green eyes were shuttered with lingering doubt and unease, yet there was no reluctance in the hands that came to rest quietly on his shoulders.

 _When?_ Bond wondered. When did his feelings toward this man start to change to the point that Q was all he could of think of, all he could ever want?

Bond was never one for introspection, and this had come on so gradually that he had not realized how affection had stealthily woven itself into the fabric of his regular interactions with Q. From the very beginning, Q had always had his respect. He’d long ago put his trust and his life repeatedly into Q’s hands, letting Q’s formidable mind take charge of him and guide him through his missions. Beneath it all, there had run an undercurrent between them which Bond had not paused to examine, though he’d acted on it time and again to tease and casually flirt with Q. Now, suddenly, the attraction had flared into outright desire and Bond wanted so much more from him.

Did Q want him in the same way?

“Come on,” Bond said, his voice turning guttural with need as Q seemed to hesitate. Then, he watched as Q lowered his head and he moved swiftly to claim that long-coveted mouth, crushing those red, luscious lips against his before Q could have second thoughts.

And dear god, the kiss was exactly as Bond had imagined it— their clash of wills finally embodied in flesh, intense and passionate. He devoured those moist, soft lips like a man dying of hunger, yet Q would not give in easily. For a few, heady seconds, Q gave as good as he got, then he broke off the kiss abruptly and touched his forehead to Bond’s, stopping him from angling his head to take another shot at his mouth.

Breathing heavily, Bond gazed up at him as Q reached out with a hand to touch Bond’s parted lips softly, his fingers gently inquisitive as they explored the shape and texture of Bond’s mouth.

 _Bloody Christ_ , thought Bond, arousal coursing heavily through him. Then he was kissing those questing fingertips, all but sucking them into his mouth had Q not withdrawn his hand. Bond growled his frustration, hands reaching out to drag Q down so that he was half-straddling him.

Still, Q gazed down at him, unsmiling, his expression rapt. Bond nearly shuddered as he felt Q’s moist fingertips stroke a line down the side of his face to his lightly stubbled jaw.

“Don’t tease,” he growled and Q merely hummed. He did not stop Bond though when he reached up once again to capture his mouth.

 _This_ , thought Bond, eyes flitting shut as he gave himself over to sensation _._

Bond had not expected this at all. As with everything else about Q, there was something more to the man— a hidden dimension that Bond found surprising. He’d not expected Q to be such a good kisser. There was no trace of shyness in Q’s kisses that held a tantalizing hint of teeth and tongue though he took care not to delve deeper.

Where did he learn this? Had he done this with so many other men? Bond wondered hazily.

The thought was somehow unsettling even as he was gratified by the unexpected depth of experience in Q’s touch. He’d half expected him to be awkwardly virginal, though now he did not know why he would think so. This was going to make things so much more interesting.

He’d not realized that his hands were on either side of Q’s head, fingers greedily plunging into that luxurious mop of hair, so impossibly soft and thick. Q’s scent was all around him— subtle and wondrous, fresh and cleanly masculine like good soap and the delicate tang of aftershave.

He angled his head to seal Q’s mouth with his own, but Q would move away just a bit, lightening the kiss before going back in again, and Bond was done with the teasing. His hands tightened, holding Q still as he deepened the kiss by reaching out with his tongue and breaking open the seam of Q’s lips, finally licking into his mouth.

He felt Q freeze against him, then he suddenly went slack in his arms. Groaning, Bond searched out Q’s tongue with his but there was no response. He paused, slowly opening his eyes to find Q staring down at him, his green gaze speculative. He was in his arms but he was suddenly still, passive yet unresponsive.

 _Fuck_ , thought Bond as he moved his mouth away, their lips disengaging with a soft, moist, smacking sound. What had he done now?

He watched as Q licked his lips carefully; the small, swiping movement of his pink tongue felt like a lick to Bond’s groin. He had to stop himself from sagging back against his seat; he felt sure if he’d been standing, his legs would have given way beneath him. This was absolutely unprecedented.

Still, Q watched him in a curiously detached way, as though he were an unusual and highly interesting specimen.

“What are you doing inside that clever head of yours?” said Bond at last, when he could find his voice. “Counting sheep, maybe?”

“Girlfriends,” replied Q calmly, disengaging himself gently from Bond’s arms as he peered down at him. “Yours.”

Bond smirked. “Not just girlfriends,” he said in weary amusement, “if you’d really paid attention to my file.”

“No,” Q murmured. “Not just women, though I must say the men fared no better.”                                       

They were silent for a moment, Q patiently waiting while Bond collected himself.

“What happened back there?” Bond asked.

Q shrugged. “Common sense finally kicking in, I suppose.”

Bond raised an eyebrow at him. “You’ll find that it’s a far less common commodity than previously thought,” he said wryly. “I had the distinct impression you liked it as much as I did.”

Q shook his head, his voice calm and reasonable. “Don’t get me wrong, Bond,” he said. “I did like it, but that’s not the point.”

“Then what _is_ the point?” demanded Bond, exasperated. “What’s wrong?”

Q shook his head. “Nothing is wrong. I just don’t think it would be wise to breathe life into something that’s unsustainable,” he said. “Just where could all this lead to? Think of all the awkward moments in the future that we’ve managed to avoid.”

Bond stared at him in disbelief. “Is that really what you think this is all about?” he said.

“It shouldn’t be too hard,” Q pressed on reassuringly, as though he’d not heard him. “I quite understand that it must be almost second nature for you to scratch every itch, but we don’t have to do so. We can just let this be and it will go away on its own. You’ll get over this in no time.”

“Wait,” said Bond flatly, feeling as though the conversation had suddenly sprouted legs of its own and was running away from him. He did not like this at all.

* * *

“Wait,” said Bond, a familiar edge of steel in his voice, and Q could see him gathering himself, quickly reforming as the initial shock wore off.

Ruthlessly, Q pressed on while he still had the advantage. “How do you think this will end, Bond?” he asked. “Not well, let me tell you. I’m not going to let it ruin our working relationship. It’s the only thing we have, after all.”

Bond licked his lips, evidently considering his next words, and Q watched him, his heart swelling, imagining that Bond could still taste him on his lips. He would have to be content in remembering the feel of Bond’s mouth against his. It was never going to happen again.

Bond asked, “Who says it will ruin anything?”

“I'm no Madeleine Swann. I'm your Quartermaster,” said Q quietly. “She left, in the end. I can’t do that, and I’m not going anywhere. We’ll be seeing each other for a long, long time after this and I don’t want this hanging over us.”

He knew it was unfair to bring up Dr. Swann, but back then, he had died a little to watch Bond go off with her in his newly refurbished DB5, courtesy of Q branch and himself. He’d smiled and allowed it when Bond had asked him for the car, but something had died a little inside him to see Bond leave MI6 and settle down with someone else. To think that Bond had no idea of his hold over him then; he must not have any notion of his power over him now.

Needless to say, Bond must never know how he felt.

He steeled himself as he watched Bond freeze minutely at the mention of Madeleine. “I’m not like any of your girls, Bond, or the occasional bloke you’ve crossed swords with,” he continued gently. “I’m—I’m not interested in a passing fling.”

 _I’m not interested in a fling, James,_ he thought. _I’m not a mere conquest. I mean to play for keeps, and if I can’t have you that way, then it would be best not to have you at all. Can’t you see?_

“Q,” said Bond, his voice dangerously quiet.

“I’m flattered that you would even want this with me,” said Q, rushing his words now, almost babbling, “but whether or not you’re willing to consider it, we’ve got to think long-term, and the consequences of our—”

_“Q.”_

Q stemmed the flow of his words with difficulty. “Yes, 007?” he said.

He could tell from the way Bond stared at him that that stung, and he tried not to cringe. He could imagine the hot words of manly indignation that were about to spill out from Bond, yet the man merely asked, softly, “Is this really what you want?”

“You know it’s the only sensible way for us,” Q replied.

“That’s not an answer and you know it.”

“Yes.” Q’s voice was nearly a whisper. “That’s what I want.”

He’d expected Bond to erupt then, to accuse him of leading him on after all this time, feeding into his desires and then letting him hang and twist in the air. Instead, Q watched, his burned-out heart seeming to crumble and shrivel to ashes inside him as Bond’s face closed down, those blue eyes growing remote and cool until they were indeed like chips of ice. It was like watching a curtain descend until there was nothing but the opaque, impersonally smooth features of a double-O agent standing in front of him.

Q was starting to miss him already.

“I understand,” said Bond, nodding curtly. “Don’t worry about it.”

 _No_ , thought Q miserably. _No, you don’t, James; but it’s better this way. It’s better that you misunderstand this, that you be disappointed and angry with me. It’s infinitely better than you finding out that I am madly, deeply, and hopelessly in love with you._

He nodded and said, “right. The matter is settled, then. There’s…there’s nothing more to be said.”

“No,” agreed Bond.

Q watched him get up and leave and felt curiously drained. Deflated. It was as if Bond had taken the light and warmth of the past week along with him, leaving everything just a little bit darker, colder, sadder.

 _I must stand firm_ , Q told himself grimly. _This is how one manages 007. M would approve._

He’d done the right thing. He knew he had.

So why did it feel so hideously wrong?

* * *

Here's the [**teaser** ](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/post/185954839636/teaser-for-ch-13-of-my-00q-fic-his-keeper)for the next chapter! Enjoy!

Oh, and if you'd like to take a breather from all the angst here, I've written a fluffy 00Q one-shot for 007 Fest called [**"Why?"**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19434439). Enjoy!


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Notes:** Hey everyone! Welcome to yet another chapter! Poor Q, he's having a perfect Murphy's Law kind of day. Let's hope he pulls through! XD

Please join us at [my tumblr](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/) for **007 Fest 2019** , happening throughout July! I also have a new 00Q fic, [Why?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19434439), as well as [drabbles and ficlets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19460539/chapters/46319941) posted here, in case you'd like some fluff to counter all the angst in this chapter. (And yes, I think three more chapters after this ought to do it for the first part of this fic!) Enjoy!

* * *

 Q awoke to the dull sound of rain against the windowpanes. At 8 am, the world outside looked dark and unhappy; the online weather forecast predicted rain for most of the day. It was a perfect time to burrow back in bed and sleep. He didn’t feel like getting up at all, but get up he must to face a dreary day and more work.

And he would have to face James.

The mere thought of it was enough to make Q wish he could just disappear off the face of the planet. He let another minute pass with his face pressed hard into the pillow before he reprimanded himself, _enough with the childishness. Up you get now._

Getting dressed took some effort, yet when he stepped out, heart thumping with dread, he need not have worried. James was nowhere to be found. He’d gone out without a word, and he’d not taken Rufus with him. Q found the golden retriever inside his study, all warm and dry and happy, still playing his game of patience with the cats. Evidently, Asi and le Carré had got so used to him that they weren’t even looking at him anymore. Their collective feline gaze was bored, though they responded well enough to Q’s brief caress.

Rufus followed him back out to the kitchen, tail wagging in silent supplication as Q fixed himself a bowl of muesli. Smiling, he gave Rufus some dog biscuits from the counter, then he leaned down to stroke him-- a small comfort that he was touching something of James's. That was when he noticed that the bottle of scotch that Bond usually kept tucked away in the corner was gone. A quick look around the kitchen had him discovering the bottle sitting neatly beside the bin.

It was empty.

Q stared at it for a while longer, distinctly remembering the bottle to be half full as of last night when Bond had sat with him in his study, just before disaster struck.

 _Don’t think,_ he thought, even as he felt the sharp, twisting pain inside him. It felt like getting carved up with a jagged piece of broken glass. _Just don’t._

Try as he would to suppress it, the thought came out, anyway— belligerent and willful: _Why? Why down the entire bottle like that, James?_

Part of him desperately wanted to see Bond brush this off, to have them both get a good laugh out of it. His rejection must mean nothing to the man who’d had numerous affairs around the globe, and with people far more beautiful and glamorous. There was no reason for the empty bottle, as far as Q could see. None at all.

And where was Bond? Q wondered uneasily. What was he doing out, in such filthy weather, when he might be drunk as a lord?

He had half a mind to call him on his phone, but then he heard the front door slam. He came out of the kitchen just in time to see Bond striding in, not looking anywhere near drunk at all. He was in a body-hugging track suit and trainers, pulling off the hoodie that covered his head. He’d been out jogging.

“Morning,” drawled Bond as he caught sight of Q, clutching his bowl of muesli.

“Have…” Q cleared his throat, which had suddenly gone dry. “Have you had breakfast, Bond?”

“I have, yes,” said Bond, his voice level as he proceeded to his bedroom to change. “Don’t let me keep you from yours.”

And that was that. At least he was speaking to him, thought Q.

And he should have been relieved. This was what he’d wanted just a minute ago, wasn’t it? Bond not being affected at all by what happened last night?

Yes, this was what he’d expected of Bond, yet why had the twisting pain in his chest gotten only worse?

* * *

“We have a match for the person of interest using the facial recognition software,” said M as he came online for their usual daily briefing.

Q paused from his typing and said, “that is good news, sir.”

“Indeed,” said M dispassionately. “Now comes the hard part. His name is Alain Lemaire, and the only reason we have any record of him was because he did time in a French jail more than half a decade ago. After that, nothing. Not a trace of him anywhere, not in our records nor in France.”

Q's mouth thinned ominously. “That is…unfortunate, sir,” he said. “Although, if it would help, I do know him.”

M did a double take. “You do?” he said.

“He’s an old acquaintance of mine, sir,” he said softly. “And the reason why he did time in a French jail was because I put him there.”

* * *

Today was just not his day, Q decided wearily as he emerged around lunchtime to find Bond in the kitchen, tinkering with some chicken from the fridge. After a brief discussion, they settled on making a casserole to simplify things.

There wasn’t much opportunity for words, but they moved smoothly around each other as though theirs was a settled routine of long standing. It was ridiculous how it made Q want to cry.

After lunch, he said to Bond, “the situation is entering a new phase. M was able to track down the blond man from 003’s video. I will be digging further, and hopefully I will be able to link Campbell to him. It won’t take long, possibly two to three days. Afterward, M wants you to take over the mission of running him down. Of course, that would mean you may have to go France, possibly even to North Africa. Our time here is nearly at an end.”

He looked up to see Bond watching him, his pale eyes veiled. He wasn’t smiling. He’d not smiled the whole day, Q noticed.

He licked his lips nervously before proceeding, “I…I want to thank you, Bond, for this past week. For everything you did for me.”

Still no response. Q tried for a bit of self-deprecatory humor: “I can only imagine how you must have found babysitting to be such a bore—”

He stopped short, dismayed, as a brief spasm of what seemed like pain crossed Bond’s features before the man looked away.

“Don’t,” said Bond as he stood up and cleared the table of his plate.

“I’m sorry,” said Q immediately, aghast. “I—”

“No,” said Bond shortly. “No thanks you’s. No apologies. They’re not necessary.”

“Why not?” Q asked, his voice soft, pained.

Bond merely shook his head. “I will be meeting a local agent later for an update. Is there anything you need in town?”

Q shook his head mutely. He’d not expected Bond to be this upset. _Why would he be?_

“Call me if you need anything,” said Bond as he turned away, leaving Q to wonder just how much worse this day could get.

It turned out the day was not quite finished with him yet. Not by a long shot.

* * *

He finally broke down in the privacy of his study sometime after 2 pm, when he was reviewing 003’s final moments. He told himself it was because he’d never got the chance to properly mourn Emily, but it was so much more complicated than that.

In her last transmission, she was dying all over again in front of him, and all because of him. His suspicions had crystallized into cold fact upon hearing the name Alain Lemaire. He’d never seen the bastard’s face before, but he should have known it was him as soon as he’d mentioned _babe._

The crazy fucking creep. Q should never have let him slip away but the man was just gone from the dark web after his stint in jail. Q had watched out for him, but after a while, it had seemed that that was the end of it. Now he knew differently, and it had to take the life of a double-O agent for him to realize it.

_Emily, Emily, I’m so sorry…it’s my fault…all my fault…_

Try as he would, he could not stem the tears. They came in a deluge, like a dam had burst inside him. There was no stopping the pent up emotions of the past week that came forth, and he was grateful Bond wasn’t here to witness this, to witness him, sitting face down at his desk, crying into one arm.

He started suddenly as he felt a warm, furry head nuzzling against his hand. It was only le Carré, but immediately he felt better as he scooped her up in his arms and gratefully buried his face into her fur. She settled against his shoulder, purring, until the tears stopped.

* * *

 

After the raw tears, he turned maudlin, which was absolutely disgusting.

He sat quietly in his chair, Asi and le Carré on his lap, as he listened to 003 and 007’s last exchange and wondered how strange people were, given their wishes during their final moments.

Yet was it really that strange of Emily to regret not kissing Bond?

 _No_ , he thought. _Not strange at all, my dear girl._

He ought to know, as he was filled with regret over what happened between himself and Bond last night. Yet the logic of his actions still stood, implacable, unchangeable.

There was one— and only one—instance wherein he might have given way to Bond but the chance of it happening was nil. There was no way Bond could reciprocate his feelings and there the matter stood, no matter how many times he might run every insane scenario in his head that culminated in him coming up to Bond and saying, _I take it back. All of it. Every bullshit thing I told you last night._

  _I’m in love with you, James. That’s all that matters._

 _Christ,_ he thought as he let out a shaky sigh. It really was a good thing that Bond was gone for the afternoon. He wouldn’t have known what to do with himself if the man had witnessed his little meltdown.

His phone vibrated with an alarm from the security cameras outside, alerting him of a person approaching the door.

 _Bond,_ he thought _._

He glanced at the video on his phone for a split second before his eyes widened and he bolted up from his seat just as the doorbell sounded.

It wasn’t Bond. It could not be farther from Bond.

It was Alexandre.

* * *

 _Bloody hell, what the fuck is wrong with today?_ Q thought as he scrambled to answer the door. No crisis in Q branch had ever prepared him for dealing with this sort of personal shit.

For a few minutes he had stood in his study, frozen with indecision as he stared in horror at his phone, thinking that perhaps Alex might go away if he didn’t answer the door, but the minutes passed, the man was showing no sign of leaving and Q could not risk Bond returning to witness such a spectacle.

He opened the door.  

“Alex?” Q could not keep the note of alarm from his voice. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Colin,” said Alex. “At last. Please, let’s talk.”

“How did you know where to find me?” Q had to stop himself from scanning the surroundings wildly for anything or anyone suspicious or— even worse— Bond, suddenly materializing out of nowhere.

“I saw James in town earlier, without you, and I thought—”

“ _Bloody hell,_ you’ve been following us?” cried Q, horrified.

“Don’t be alarmed.” Alex’s eyes were beseeching. “Please, just five minutes, then I’ll go. I promise.”

“Alright,” said Q, crossing his arms rather defensively over his chest, “but not here.”

 _Shit!_ He thought vehemently as he shut the door and led Alex down the street. _Shit shit shit!_

This wasn’t good, and the farther they got from the cottage, the worse the idea seemed to Q. Yet he couldn’t bear the security cameras witnessing what he and Alex had to say to each other. He would have a lot to account for if M picked up on this, and that was discounting Bond’s reaction were he to find out as well.

Still, this was not a good idea. Out here in the open, Q felt vulnerable; he should have thought to bring along a weapon. Hell, he even forgot to bring his phone.  He cast an eye around; so far no vehicles or people within the vicinity, but the overcast skies hung low and dark. It was going to rain again soon.

Q stopped at one of Rufus’ favorite spots just a block or two away. He and Bond had discovered it a few days back when they had taken Rufus out for a walk. It had a cluster of trees and a green patch of ground that gave a measure of privacy, but was shouting distance from neighboring cottages.

Arms crossed, he waited impatiently for Alex to begin.

“I’m sorry,” Alex said.

Q stared at him, and after a moment, he felt compelled to widen his eyes. _And…?_

“What, is that it?” he said, after Alex fell silent, gazing at him in sorrow.

“All those years ago, I never had the chance to say that,” said Alex. “I know I’ve hurt you.”

“Water under the bridge,” said Q briskly as he made to move away. “If that’s the only thing you mean to say then you didn’t have to come all this way, Alex.”

“But you wouldn’t answer my calls,” said Alex urgently as he shot out a hand to halt Q. Startled, Q flung his hand away and took a quick step back.

“Why should I?” said Q incredulously. “Isn’t my silence answer enough? In case it never registered with you, I’m _married._ You’ve met James. _”_

“I would never dream of causing you any trouble,” said Alex in a placating tone.

 _Oh yes, you do_ , thought Q as he felt the fury simmering slowly inside him. The fucking nerve of this man to think he still had a claim over him after all these years.

“But this man, James,” said Alex with a vague gesture of one arm.

Q stiffened. “Yes? What about him?” he said warily.

For one wild moment he thought the game was up, that Alex had somehow figured it all out. He couldn’t trust him not to do so, knowing he’d been tailing Bond.

“I mean you, and the likes of him,” said Alex, still searching for words. “Colin, since when were you into his sort?”

“Oh,” said Q, finally comprehending. “Excuse me. _Excuse me_ for finally finding someone worthwhile to share my life with.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Alex, desperation entering his tone, but Q was suddenly too far gone to notice.

“What _did_ you mean? That he’s too old for me, perhaps? Or he’s too different? Well, e _xcuse me_ that James happens to adore me,” snapped Q, rage flaring inside him so that he was oblivious of his ringing voice, “and please do forgive me that I happen to love him very much.”

He would have said more, the bitter words bottled up for years threatening to spill out, but he caught a sudden movement from the corner of his eye and when he turned his head, there was Bond just a few yards away, bearing down on them.

Rather, there was 007, face set as he came toward them, and Q felt his blood turn to ice. He recognized that look, those movements. In the field, it usually presaged death or a broken body. One look and he knew that 007 was enraged and in full killing mode as he reached a hand inside his jacket for his gun.

 _“No,”_ Q said as he moved quickly to intercept Bond, blocking his path. Before he knew it, his hand was clamped on the agent’s wrist, stopping him from revealing his gun even as he braced another hand on Bond’s chest to restrain him.

It was quite useless. The man felt like stone, hard and implacable.

There was the niggling question again, surfacing in Q’s thoughts the way it did numerous times during the day: _But why? Why would he be so angry? Unless—_

Yet now was not the time for such thoughts. A deadly mistake was seconds away from happening.

“007, stand down. What do you think you’re doing?” Q said in a low, harsh whisper that only they could hear but it was no use, Bond was still advancing despite Q’s efforts to stop him bodily from taking another step forward. It was as though he were no more than a rag doll caught in a tiger’s jaws. He could feel 007 twisting away from his grasp and about to push him aside as he went for Alexandre, who stood frozen a few feet away.

 _“James.”_ The name left Q’s lips without him being aware of it, despair in his voice as he acted on the only thing he could think of. He reached up with both hands to take hold of Bond’s head, forcing the man to look at him.Then he closed the distance between them to claim that stern, angry mouth with his.

* * *

The kiss may have lasted mere seconds or a full minute at most, but it seemed to Q that a small eternity had passed before he felt Bond relax minutely against him. That was enough for him to know the killing rage had passed.

His breathing ragged, he slowly lifted his head to peer closely at Bond, and he was relieved to see the man gazing down at him with pale blue eyes that were his own again.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not principle, not pride. In kissing Bond, he felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

“Let’s go home, James,” Q said softly, aware of something being born between them right at that moment. Something huge, potentially life-altering, yet so fragile, like a magical spell that might dissipate in the air if either of them did so much as look away from each other for one instant.

Yet Bond continued to hold his gaze, eyes darkening just a shade as thin needles of rain began to fall, touching their hair, their cheeks like wet, trailing fingertips. He nodded once at Q’s words and, catching hold of Q’s hand in his, they turned to go.

Hands linked, they turned to go without so much as taking a single glance back. 

* * *

 

Here's the[ **teaser**](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/post/186116282656/teaser-for-ch-14-of-my-00q-fic-his-keeper) for the next chapter! Enjoy!


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Notes:** Aaand things finally come to a head in this chapter! Please mind the tags, as always. Enjoy and send the Muse some love over at [**my tumblr**](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/), if you like. She is EXHAUSTED every time she has to deal with sexytimes, it's like squeezing blood from stones!! 

* * *

 To judge by any standard, it was not his best performance, and while other field incidents may have ended far more disastrously, Bond could safely say that he was not proud of himself in this one.

It was appalling how he lost control in the end. It went against all his training and experience. To say that he was pissed would have been an understatement. He was beyond pissed, he was _furious_ , and he had only himself to blame.

He should have known what this was that had been brewing between himself and Q. He should have known, given that he’d experienced it before, with devastating consequences. He should have taken steps to avoid it taking root once again inside him. And once it did, what he should _not_ have done was fan the flames.

Well, too late now.

At least Q tried to talk some sense into him, using reason and logic that had somehow managed to elude him. He’d done the right thing, Q; but there was no helping it now. Not for him. He was too far gone for reason or logic.

Christ, what was the matter with him? What did he want from this man so badly? And, having been denied it, he’d gone off his head. Never mind his history, his vast experience. All of a sudden he felt like sixteen again and catapulted to the remembered thrills and pains of his first serious love affair. The last time he’d experienced such feelings had been during his brief time with Vesper. Not even Madeleine Swann had warranted such emotions as their break, when it came, had been relatively clean. By calling off their relationship before it could start to curdle, Madeleine had always been one of the smarter ones in his repertoire of past loves.

This thing with Q was quite bad, maybe even worse than usual, and the symptoms were plain to see…except for some reason he hadn’t. How all the double-O’s would laugh if they ever found out. After all this time, there was still something inside him that was quite human— human enough to make the same mistake, human enough to fall in love once again.

There was no solution for it. So he drank, and drank. And when the scotch did nothing to alleviate the pain, he drank some more. Yet downing nearly half a bottle of the stuff only succeeded in inducing a deep, dreamless sleep. Bloody hell, was he becoming immune even to alcohol? Because he was up by 7 am the next day, his usual time, still quite sober and with a raging hangover.

_Bloody perfect._

The weather seemed to mirror his foul mood so he went out in the cold rain for a run to clear his head. Marvelous, this. It was a practice that dated back to his years in Fettes and the Royal Navy. It never failed to calm him down and put things into proper perspective.

By the end of his run, he did feel better, calmer. This was all quite ridiculous, really. It wasn’t as if this was the first time he’d ever been let down. Why should this feel so different? When he returned to the cottage, he was cool and curt with a clearly nervous and uncertain Q, and dear lord, he knew he was being petty and, far from gaining any satisfaction from what he was doing, he still wanted to reach out and just take the man into his arms.

Clearly he needed to put more distance between them. Normally, he could just shrug this all off and be a good sport, play the well-practiced part of the sophisticated double-O agent, and bide his time and watch out for another chance in future when Q might buckle and give in. Only there wasn’t going to be another chance, given how clear and final Q’s decision was. If he knew the man at all, he knew his Quartermaster would never give in once he’d made up his mind. This was the thing that he could not take, he realized belatedly, and if he were angry at anyone, it was himself, because of this sudden inability to get past this thing, this feeling eating away inside him.

Yet no matter how much he would castigate himself, there was nothing more to be done. Q had taken the matter in hand and cast the die for them. For the rest of the day, he’d done fairly well, cracking only once and very briefly, when Q announced that their time was nearly up and then tried to thank him in that sweet, shy way of his, and it very nearly did him in. Of course, what came out of him was something else entirely— something in his visage that made Q offer an instant, startled apology.

 _What the hell was the matter with him?_ Was this really what he’d come down to, and all because of this slender young man standing in front of him with his stricken eyes, his own confusion and unhappiness written plainly on that pale, lovely face?

It would be best to just keep out of each other’s way for the time being. It wasn’t easy, but by the end of his meeting with the agent from the Edinburgh office for a routine update, Bond was set on being resignedly amused by the whole thing. Hats off to Q for winning this round.

Of course that was before his phone buzzed that alarm that came with the security cameras at home. That was before he saw the live feed of the cameras, of Alexandre standing in front of their door and Q going out with him to god knew only where. That was all before he saw red and felt once again that familiar, overwhelming urge to break things.

He rushed home and of course they weren’t there, and for a few minutes, panic threatened with its icy fingertips down his spine as he imagined various scenarios: of Q being led into a trap; Q being kidnapped and injured; Q dying from a single gunshot to the head or the slash of a blade.

When he finally found them, guided by raised voices becoming slowly more distinct as he pounded down the street, he would have gladly killed Alexandre, and he would have regretted it had Q not stopped him. With a kiss, of all things.

_He adores me…and I happen to love him very much…_

It had happened so quickly, just a blur in Bond’s consciousness as he homed in on his target. Were those words even real? Yet the feel of Q’s hand in his as they walked home, as well as his kiss— these were as tangible, as real as those words spoken out loud for the entire world to hear.

They reached the cottage at last. No sooner had the door closed behind them and Bond was crowding Q against it. During their short walk back in the downpour, they were soaked through and through. Q stared at him, eyes too wide behind the slightly fogged up glasses, tendrils of dark hair plastered to his forehead and the sides of his face. He looked like a forlorn kitten. His breath came quickly, feathering softly across Bond’s face— they were that close.

“It’s true,” Bond found himself saying, “when you said I adore you. I do. I do because I’m in love with you.”

The quick breaths turned into a sharp gasp, then stilled, as though Q had ceased to breathe.

“So tell me,” continued Bond, willing his voice not to shake, “that you mean the other part. Tell me that’s true, too.”

There was silence for a heartbeat, then another. And another. Then he did the unthinkable: _“Please.”_

Q stared at Bond for a moment more, green eyes slowly filling with tears that spilled in a trickle down his face even as the tension eased from his frame and he seemed to melt into Bond’s hands. Then those red lips, impossibly soft, parted around a single whispered word that managed to convey everything that Q could not put into words: entreaty, yearning and, yes, surrender.

_“James.”_

With that one word, like a key fitting into the lock of a door that had long remained stubbornly shut, all the pieces of the puzzle that made up the enigma that was the gorgeous young man standing before Bond suddenly clicked into place. He was a fool not to have seen it sooner— Q’s silent, desperate love that could find no outside expression unless Bond loved him in return, and just as passionately and thoroughly.

With that epiphany, Bond finally closed the small distance between them, crushing Q’s mouth with his in a kiss that quickly turned scorching as Q moaned and opened his mouth, letting Bond in. There was no hesitation, only a sweet giving in that was not capitulation at all as Q teased him with his tongue, shyly at first before growing bolder as Bond returned his caresses and matched his hunger.

Bond only broke the kiss when he felt Q shiver against him. He moved his mouth away, their foreheads still touching as they gazed at each other up close. “Look at you,” murmured Bond, his voice rough. “Christ, Q, just look at you.”

Q gave a watery laugh. “Not quite a sight to behold at present, actually,” he said, smiling tremulously.

“You’re perfect,” said Bond feelingly. “But you do need a warm bath before you catch your death of cold.”

Q’s smile widened. “You’re completely soaked yourself,” he said. Then, more softly: “come and join me?”

The sound of Bond’s voice was nearly a growl as he replied, “with pleasure.”

* * *

To be fair to Q, he had so many more articles of clothing on his person than Bond, so that after Bond had finished stripping efficiently, he had only got rid of his cardigan and tie and was still undoing the buttons of his shirt.

Then there were the fleeting kisses that distracted them further but Bond did help him with his belt and trousers as Q finally managed to peel off the shirt that clung to him like a second skin. He sighed in pleasure at the touch of Bond’s hands on him, but they were only to propel him gently into the shower. The last to go were his glasses, unceremoniously plucked off the bridge of his nose just when he was about to give Bond’s body a thorough once-over.

“Not fair,” he grumbled.

“Patience, Q,” said Bond in a voice that was low and indulgent. “There will be plenty of time later. I don’t think you’d appreciate the view through water-splattered lenses anyway, would you?”

“I suppose not,” Q conceded as Bond turned the shower on. They stood under the warm spray, locked once again in a deep kiss and soaped hands slowly exploring the wet, slippery contours of each other’s bodies.

Q could not help grinning when his hand slid downward to not-so-accidentally brush against Bond’s erection, making him grunt and twitch away.

“Careful,” warned Bond, catching Q's hand lightly in his, “or this might be over before it’s even begun. Besides, I want our first time in bed. You deserve that much.”

Q smiled impishly. “Such restraint, James,” he said. “I never would have thought of it.”

“And you do have the capacity to surprise me endlessly,” returned Bond, “what with your hidden depths and talents.”

“Pleasantly, I hope?”

“Ecstatically,” corrected Bond as he leaned in once again for a brief kiss.

“Is this really happening, James?” sighed Q, still marveling at the dizzying turn-around of events that finally brought them here.

“I’m just as surprised as you are, but given that such twists of fate can and do happen, I’ve learned very early on that ours is not to reason why,” said Bond. There was a pause as he turned serious. “It’s not going to be smooth sailing. We’re not ordinary people, we can’t afford ordinary luxuries like having too much time in our hands.”

“I know,” said Q as he leaned his head onto Bond’s shoulder, “but if I wanted ordinary or smooth sailing I would not have ended up in MI6.”

Bond smiled. “And I’m not the easiest person to be around with, even by Six's standards.”

“Don’t think I didn’t realize that a long time ago, Bond,” said Q wryly, “but one can’t expect a tiger to change his stripes. Especially when one loves tigers above all else.”

“Do you?” Bond said, pleased.

“I do,” said Q. “For the longest time, I have. So this thing between us and all its attendant struggle…well. I realize now that it’s much too late for any of that. Perhaps we could have done something to stop it much, much earlier.”

“When?” asked Bond, amused.

“Not when,” said Q. “If. If we never met at all.”

That had Bond laughing softly. Q smiled wistfully. It _was_ going to be hard being with Bond, he knew, but then he wouldn’t miss it for the world, loving this extraordinary man and seeing that Bond felt the same way for him.

“I’m going to make this work,” said Bond solemnly. “I’m going to try my best. That’s the only promise I can give you.”  

“ _We_ will do our best. _We_ will make this work, just like we do everything else,” said Q. “We do things our way, remember?”

“Christ, Q,” said Bond, his voice suddenly hoarse as he leaned in to kiss Q soundly on the forehead.

“I think this is enough washing up, don’t you?” said Q. “Let’s get out of here.”

* * *

“Oohhh…” breathed Q.

That long sound of serious, frank appreciation left Q seemingly without him being much aware of it as he finally got his glasses back on. They were finally in bed, naked, and Bond grinned, his entire face breaking into wrinkles as he watched Q gaze at him in wonder. He’d never felt so proud and so humble at the same time.

“My, is that all for me?” Q teased wickedly when his gaze finally drifted down and caught sight of Bond’s straining shaft.

“You’re not bad yourself,” said Bond. “Don’t cover yourself, love, I want to see you, too.”

“Umm, Bond,” said Q, licking his lips and hardly paying any attention to him. “I hope I’m not coming across as too forward, but…may I?”

“Take it,” said Bond as he guided Q’s hand to his cock, rock-hard and rosy against the burnished gold thicket of hair between his thighs. “Take me. All of me, Q. I’m yours to do as you wish.”

Q smiled. “I’ll take you up on your kind offer, then.”

Bond’s soft laugh turned into a stifled groan as he watched those long, slender fingers close carefully over his length. He settled against the mound of pillows, watching as Q concentrated on the task of _feeling_ him, eyes bright and observant behind the glasses as he drank in Bond’s every little reaction while those soft, ruby lips parted slightly to show a hint of pink tongue.

There was no hint of embarrassment around Q now, as though he’d done away with it the moment he’d decided to take the plunge with Bond. His touch was light and delicate, the way he would handle fragile, sensitive machinery at work.

“Lovely,” breathed Q as, encouraged by Bond’s low, throaty sounds of pleasure, he moved both hands to wrap around Bond’s flesh, milking him, making him impossibly harder. “You’re so lovely, James.”

“Not as lovely as you,” rasped Bond as he reached out to take Q in. “Christ, you’re fucking beautiful. Enough with the teasing. Come here.”

Q obeyed quickly, his hands never leaving Bond as they kissed, urgent and messy.

“Like this,” said Bond as he moved a hand down to tug at Q’s cock— as slender and beautifully proportioned as the rest of him. He mirrored Q’s movements in a sure, leisurely grip that soon had Q gasping in turn. “Just like this, for the first time.”

“More,” protested Q as he moved to straddle Bond, aligning their erections and grinding against Bond in earnest.

“Yes,” hissed Bond as they soon found their rhythm, their hands wrapped around their straining flesh, their movements growing harsh and urgent in the incoming rush of orgasm. He tugged Q down, swallowing his sharp cry as their bodies heaved and shuddered, their shared pleasure deep and welcome, cleansing away all the anguish that had accumulated between them just hours ago.

Afterward, Q was the first to move, lifting his head from Bond’s chest as he lay sprawled over him and planting a few soft kisses on Bond’s clavicle. “Sorry if I shocked you,” he said shyly. “It must feel as though the lamb had suddenly grown fangs.”

“No need to apologize.” Bond laughed. “And I’m delighted, not shocked. Also, you’re no lamb.”

Aside from his brilliant mind, Bond had, of course, caught glimpses of something ferocious in Q— his curiosity, his drive, his protectiveness over his agents in the field and his ruthless streak when it came to getting the job done. It resonated with Bond and he’d found himself responding to it throughout their acquaintance; and here at last he’d seen something more of it and found that he recognized it once he came face to face with it.

“What am I, then?” inquired Q, watching Bond with limpid green eyes filled with sated desire.

“We’re more alike than anyone would think. We belong to the same tribe, you and I,” said Bond. “Tiger cub.”

* * *

 

[Here's](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/post/186329909776/teaser-for-ch-15-of-my-00q-fic-his-keeper) the teaser for the next chapter! Enjoy!


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Notes:** There ought to be more but I've decided to keep this chapter short and sweet. Bond and Q deserve it! The more serious stuff (along with the contents of the teaser) will have to wait for the next chapter. Please mind the tags and enjoy! ^_^ 

* * *

They had a late dinner afterward— a warm, cozy affair in contrast to the stark, dreadful meal earlier in the day that was lunch. It struck Q once again what a huge difference a few hours— not to mention a turnaround in his decisions— could make.

They sat side by side, occasionally touching, talking all the while. They’d known each other for two years yet it seemed they hardly knew each other at all and were now finally catching up.

After dinner, Q still had some work to wrap up for the night, and Bond had plans of his own.

“Where are you going?” asked Q anxiously as he watched Bond slip into his coat. But then he already knew.

“I won’t be long,” said Bond, smiling reassuringly.

“It won’t be necessary for you to pay him a nighttime visit just to chat,” said Q. “I think we left him off at a perfect place.”

“We’ll see,” said Bond, a curt note entering his voice.

“Bond,” said Q as he slowly came forward to place a hand on Bond’s chest. “James.”

It took a moment for Bond to look at him.

“Let him go, please,” said Q softly. “I’ve got Alex covered. He won’t bother us again, I promise.”

When Bond merely gazed at him, not saying anything, he added, “trust me?”

Q felt Bond shift beneath his hand as he gradually eased up. “You know I do,” Bond finally said.

“Thank you,” whispered Q. On seeing Bond’s expression, he continued hastily, “I know. I know. For some reason you’re averse to thank you’s and apologies. Sooner or later you must explain to me why.”

“They’re not necessary, coming from you,” said Bond.

“Still,” Q insisted. "Or perhaps you think it's too easy, uttering those words? It's not, you know. Not when you have to slice off a part of your soul to put into each word."

"I never said it was easy," said Bond. "Especially coming from you. Which is why I keep telling you that you don't need to say any of that at all. Not to me."

Q gave Bond a wry look, a corner of his mouth tilting up mischievously. “I see. Well, I’ll just have to find another way to show you my…appreciation.”

Bond smiled. “I’m amenable to that,” he replied.

“Good,” said Q softly. “Later, then.”

* * *

Later when they were in bed, Q had Bond sit back against the pillows while he settled himself between Bond’s open legs. “I feel like a king on his throne,” Bond joked. To be truthful, he wasn’t sure how to feel about all this; normally, he was the one calling the shots. Still, he was bent on indulging Q so he was content to just play along.

“Nice to know you’re getting it, Bond. This is what you get for refusing my verbal platitudes,” replied Q with a wicked smile before they kissed, languid at first before the hunger building between them made them greedy, almost rapacious.

Bond had his hands in Q’s hair, hard fingers set in the thick, unruly waves, holding Q still while he plundered his mouth. The soft sounds of pleasure that escaped them seemed almost lewd, needy mixing with guttural in equal measure.

All the while, Q’s hands were never still, roaming boldly, inquisitively, over the planes of Bond’s muscled chest, his arms, down his abdomen to splay wide over his thighs. Q smiled into their kiss as he felt Bond’s muscles jump at his touch, maddeningly light.

“Minx,” accused Bond fondly as their kiss ended and Q took to touching his lips delicately to the skin of Bond’s neck, his chest, delving reverently over each of Bond’s scars.

“Hmm. I’ve never been called that before,” murmured Q and Bond huffed out a silent laugh.

“What have you been called?”

“Lots of things, I can assure you,” said Q, “but not that. It’s… _cute.”_

Bond smiled. “Get used to it, then.”

There was something poignant about this man with the graceful, lightly muscled body of a young Apollo, entirely naked save for his glasses. For some reason, Bond found that small detail incredibly hot. Behind the glasses, the verdant eyes were dark with arousal as Q continued down Bond’s chest, stopping to flick his tongue over Bond’s nipples, anointing his flesh with saliva.

For all his experience in these matters, it managed to elicit a small, startled gasp from Bond. That was when it occurred to him that Q may have something else in mind apart from body worship.

 _Mine_ , proclaimed those green eyes as they flashed Bond a darkly amused, knowing look.

“Q,” rasped Bond as he watched Q make his way down the muscled panes of his stomach, that pink tongue tracing a teasing line down the thin trail of hairs just as they got coarser, darker, down Bond’s navel.

From there, all Bond could do was hold on for dear life.

He slid his hands back into Q’s hair, clutching at his head before Q smilingly shook him off. Gently, he rose over Bond, eyeing his engorged flesh appreciatively, speculatively, as though deciding how best to approach such a dangerous-looking weapon.

Spread out helplessly beneath Q like this, Bond felt like an offering.

 _“Please,”_ he grated out, already beyond shame, knowing only that it would move Q enough so that he would take pity on him.

“What do you need, James?” Q’s voice was impossibly soft, melodic. “”Tell me. You know I’ll give it to you.”

“Touch me,” Bond implored. “I need you to touch me.”

Q made a small, thoughtful noise. “Like this?” he asked, reaching down to trail his fingertips teasingly along Bond’s length.

“Fuck.” The word left Bond’s lips before he could bite it back. _“More.”_

“Hmm,” breathed Q as he let his fingers linger over Bond’s flesh, watching as Bond writhed beneath his light grasp, trying to push himself more into Q’s hand. “You’re a beautiful man, Mr. Bond.”

Lying pressed against the pillows as he thrust his hips toward Q’s mouth, Bond exhaled a laugh. “Touché, Q,” he said. “Very nicely played.”

“Why, thank you,” purred Q. “Oh, there we go again with the thanks. How irksome it must be for you. I believe I need to start translating my gratitude from word to action. Isn’t it what this entire exercise is all about?”

“Please do.”

“I like it when you say that word,” said Q as he bent to nuzzle against Bond’s flesh. “So pretty, coming from you.”

There were no more words from Bond as Q reached out to flick his tongue experimentally over the head of his cock. He let out a heartfelt groan, his hips thrusting involuntarily upward even as Q tried to hold him still with his fingers encircled around the base of his stiff prick. All the while, Q gazed up at him slyly as he softly licked at him with small, flickering motions of his pink tongue, just tasting him, like a cat lapping cream.

It was enough to drive any man insane.

He needed Q to go deeper. With a low growl, he plunged his hands once again into that gorgeous hair, taking care not to rush Q as he guided him, feeling those lush, red lips finally close around the head of his straining shaft.

He felt he could come then and there.

Shuddering, he reined himself in, fingers clutching at Q’s hair as Q slowly took him in and, _Christ_ , the wet, warm, sucking tightness of that sweet, filthy mouth was a fucking dream.

Groaning, Bond tossed his head back as Q began to work on him in earnest, that beautiful mouth moving in tandem with his fingers as they glided along his thick shaft. This was how it felt like to surrender, to be owned. He’d never thought himself the type to relish it. Now that he thought of it, he’d never really done this before— abandon himself totally to the care of another. It felt as though he were in free fall, yet knowing that he was in safe hands.

With that thought the rising pleasure suddenly peaked and he was coming just as Q released him, the sounds leaving his lips entirely alien to him. He watched as his come spurted out to land on the side of Q’s open mouth, his cheek, streaking through his hair. He’d never come so hard or so long and Q held him all the way, coaxing every bit of pleasure from him with those beautiful, skillful hands until he was drained entirely.

“Bloody Jesus Christ,” he managed as the tremors subsided.

 _You're also mine_ , Bond thought as he took in Q's flushed face and disheveled hair, marked by him in the most intimate way possible.

"Come here," he growled, reaching out to roughly pull Q in, his hand on Q’s cock, pumping, giving it to him. He buried his face in Q’s hair as he felt Q twist against him, biting into his shoulder. Q's moans were muffled against warm, firm flesh as he came with just a few strokes of Bond’s hand.

“That was fast,” Bond remarked as they subsided in an exhausted heap. He was still cradling Q to him.

“It’s all right,” Q murmured happily against him. “I feel marvelous.”

Bond reached down and sought Q’s mouth, tasting himself in their kiss.

“Next time, you must allow me to return the compliment,” said Bond. “And I’ll take my time, taking you apart.”

Q smiled drowsily. “I’m…amenable to that,” he said.

Bond shook his head as he regarded this wondrous creature in his arms. Already he was hopelessly enthralled, enraptured. Completely smitten.

“As I’ve said,” remarked Bond. “Hidden depths and talents.”

Q’s smile merely widened. “There will be more,” he promised.

“I look forward to it.”

* * *

 

[Here's](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/post/186329909776/teaser-for-ch-15-of-my-00q-fic-his-keeper) the teaser (again) for the next chapter! Enjoy!

 


	16. Chapter 16

Author's Notes: And here's the next chapter! Enjoy! We're so near the end, my goodness! As always, thank you so much for the kind support and all the love! The Muse and I could not have gone this far without you guys cheering us on. XD

* * *

Bond awoke sometime before daybreak to find that Q had hogged all the blankets. Thus cocooned, he lay curled up beside Bond, stirring only slightly as Bond ran gentle fingers through the lovely mess of dark hair. Q did not wake to his touch but slept soundly on, his breathing soft and regular, the sweep of long lashes over closed eyes dark and still against his pale cheek.

Bond had to smile, once again wondering how he’d not seen this coming. The feeling had crept on so gradually, then it had come in so strong like a tsunami wave during the past few days that he’d been almost overwhelmed by it.

Now, in the quiet, blue hour before sunrise, Bond gazed at Q, feeling that familiar mixture of fierce, protective love and intense fear. He knew he had a type. His lovers— those who managed to hold his heart, anyway— filled a certain mold: smart, spirited, vulnerable. And unlucky. Or was he the contributing factor to their misfortune? He had been rather luckless in love. Nothing good had ever come from his affairs of the heart, especially for his lovers.

But this man…this man just might have what it takes to survive his unlucky streak. This exceedingly clever young man who was far more capable of protecting the nation than he ever could, who now needed protection himself. This man who embodied everything that Bond held dear and worth fighting for.

_Beautiful, brilliant Q. I promise I will keep you safe. I’ll keep you in this heart that is all yours._

He reached out a hand to pull the covers loose around Q’s sleeping form and, gently sliding in beside him, Bond spread the blankets over them and nuzzled against Q, breathing in his scent, strong arms wrapping around Q’s slender frame very much in the way a dragon would guard its treasure.

* * *

When Bond awoke next, the room was brighter— the sun was finally out today— and he found himself meticulously tucked into the blankets like a burrito. Beside him, he could hear Q murmur, “yes, sir. I’ve engaged with the target. It may take a while but I will send regular updates…yes, sir…”

He turned his head to find Q lying on his stomach beside him, still in a state of disheveled undress, phone in one hand while the other one tapped steadily on the laptop he’d brought with him. He’d apparently decided to work in bed this morning, and Bond was touched that he’d thought to keep him company this way.

He got Q’s attention after reaching out a hand to tweak playfully at an errant curl from Q’s forehead.

 _Morning_ , Q mouthed at him even as he smoothly continued his phone conversation with M. He raised a finger to Bond’s lips when Bond leaned over to kiss him.

Q flashed him a warning glance even as it carried a hint of a smile: _Behave._

Bond grinned, making every indication of disobeying as he took to mouthing kisses up Q’s shoulder, deliberately scraping his morning stubble against smooth skin and delighting in the way Q startled at his bristly touch.

When he spoke into the phone next, Q’s voice was not as smooth as before, “I, uh…I’ll see what I can do, sir…”

Bond huffed out a silent laugh as Q tried unsuccessfully to nudge him away when he tried to nip at an earlobe. Q was speaking quickly into his phone now, “yes…yes, I will, sir. That should work perfectly. Yes, understood. Very well, sir.”

Q blew out a gusty sigh as the call finally ended. “You bad man,” he muttered as he finally kissed Bond. It was meant to be only a peck on the lips, but Bond was having none of it as he wrapped Q in a bear hug until Q gave in to a full, wet snog.

“And good morning to you,” said Bond as he released him, “blanket hog.”

“I am not,” objected Q with a smile, already turning back to the screen of his laptop, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “Or at least, I did try to remedy the situation upon waking. Are you hungry? We ought to have breakfast.”

“In a while,” said Bond as he nosed his way along Q’s nape, his upper back.

“James,” breathed Q, eyes still on his laptop. “What are you doing?”

“Exploring,” replied James as he dragged his open mouth down the graceful slope of Q’s spine. The man really was lovely, his back the color of warm ivory in the morning light. He smiled when he felt the shiver that ran through Q’s slender frame. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to corner a rat,” replied Q. “Almost there but Campbell is hanging back. Apparently, the premature bombing of my home was not his idea and it’s cocked up all his plans. This has left him with hardly any escape route, and he is getting desperate. Despite that, they’ve not managed to make him budge for the past week. They’re all for bringing him in but I agree with M that it would be such a waste of a good opportunity. Now I’ve got to draw him out and track Alain Lemaire at the same time. I should tell you all about him, by the way. Bond…Bond, are you even listening to me?”

“Of course,” said Bond smoothly. “Do continue.”

“You’re making it hard for me to concentrate— _ahh!”_

Grinning, Bond lifted his mouth from where he’d given Q a small, sharp nip at the small of his back. “I doubt I’m keeping you from your task. Has anyone ever told you you’ve got a nice arse, Quartermaster?”

Q hummed distractedly. “Don’t think that will get you anywhere, flatterer.”

“Oh, but I think it will,” said Bond, pushing the covers away to gaze down covetously at Q’s body. “You’re bloody gorgeous, you know that?”

“So you’ve told me.”

“Let me _show_ you,” said Bond persuasively as he trailed reverent hands along the smooth line of Q’s back, from his scapulae all the way down to the firm flesh of his buttocks. He pressed a sharp kiss there and Q jumped.

“Bond _,”_ admonished Q.

He turned around and Bond would have leaned down for another kiss except that Q suddenly had a hand over his mouth. Bond gazed down at him, taking in Q’s calm features as he said, “let me finish this, please. Then you can have me any way you want, James. Deal?”

He was serious, Bond realized, and he immediately slackened his hold over the slender body beneath him. “Of course,” he said as he made to move away.

“It might take a day or two,” warned Q.

Bond smiled. “Take all the time you need,” he said.

“Thank you,” murmured Q as he rose to kiss Bond of his own accord.

“That’s going to cost you another snog,” Bond informed him in mock-severe tones.

“Oh, very well,” Q said, smiling widely as he paid Bond his due.

“Well. I’ll need to go out and get some…supplies,” said Bond as he made to get out of bed, “for when the time comes. If you know what I mean.”

“Oh.”

Something in Q’s tone made Bond glance back and he watched, intrigued, as Q flushed a delicate shade of pink at his words.

“Q?” prodded Bond, curiosity piqued as Q continued to stare at him, apparently weighing something on his mind.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Bond,” Q finally said before he nodded at the direction of his nightstand.

Bond could not help the slow smile of delighted comprehension as he made for the bedside table and its small drawer. “My, my,” he said teasingly. “We’ve come prepared, haven’t we, Quartermaster?”

Q groaned as he sank his head into his arms. “You’re terrible,” he remarked. “Especially after I said don’t take this the wrong way. Moneypenny brought the stuff over when she realized that my place was going to get turned inside out by M after the bombing.”

“Including this?” said Bond as he lifted the small, oval toy.

“Especially that, I’m afraid,” said Q as he tilted his head at Bond, his eyes bright and hard with challenge.

 _Well?_ His gaze seemed to say.

“Things just became so much more interesting,” was all Bond said. “Finish your work, Q, and when it’s all over, I shall hold you to your promise.”

* * *

Q was right, as always. It took a little more than two days to finally net Campbell. All that time, Bond was witness to the terrifying, silent efficiency of Q in action. He was glued to his computers, multitasking, following his targets and setting up various traps online while expertly covering up his tracks. It was, Bond realized, the way of the future—one in which he could hardly have a role. Watching Q work, he felt like a dinosaur.

_I’ll hazard I can do more damage with my laptop, sitting in my pajamas before my first cup of Earl Grey than you can do in a year in the field._

He remembered Q telling him that, so long ago, it seemed, and it was only now that he fully realized that Q had not been exaggerating.

It fell to him to regulate some sort of schedule around Q— bringing over meals for him to hawk down, nudging him to take a short break for the shower, or bed. The latter part was quite futile, as he would wake at odd hours to find Q in his study, having dozed off in front of his computer screens. In the end, and against Q’s objections, he’d made Q work in bed beside him.

As the hours stretched on, he could see the tension coiling tighter within Q. Campbell was no fool, but he was no match for the Quartermaster…if only he would take the bait.

By the end of the first day, he almost did, only to suddenly withdraw and disappear from Q’s net.

“Don’t worry,” said Bond as he sat with Q in the study. “M’s got eyes on him, anyway. He won’t be able to bolt.”

He watched Q silently pace the length of the room, his frustration stamped on every line of his body before he came up to Bond and climbed right into his lap.

“You’ll get him,” Bond said as he gazed up at Q’s shuttered eyes.

“I only wish it were now,” Q said, gruffly. “Because I very badly want to kiss you, Bond.”

“Then why don’t you?” Bond said.

“Can’t,” sighed Q. “Because that will lead to us shagging, and god only knows what I might miss if I don’t keep an eye on the screens.”

“I don’t mind the wait,” said Bond truthfully.

“But I _do,”_ growled Q. “Better prepare yourself, Bond. By the end of this exercise I’m afraid I shall be quite a handful to deal with.”

Bond grinned. “Looking forward to it,” he replied. “In the meantime, you promised to tell me everything about that bloke Lemaire.”

Q blew out a breath. “Oh, him,” he said, voice flat. “I caught him at an online sting operation more than five years ago. A rising arms dealer, could be quite dangerous if he managed to reach his full potential. Had a spot of trouble when he entered our radar. Apparently, a domestic terrorist cell had attempted to engage his services of supplying them with a cache of newfangled weapons but he was nowhere to be found when traced. MI5 got in touch with us to bring him down and I managed to nip his career in the bud by posing as a female representative to a powerful client. He’s susceptible to flattery, you see, along with a woeful lack of impulse control as evidenced by his premature step in extracting his revenge on me. Based on our information, our counterparts in France finally got him.”

“I see,” said Bond solemnly.

“Hence his penchant for calling me ‘babe’,” said Q somewhat primly. “That was his nickname for my persona. You don’t mind that we were rather intimate online, do you, Bond?”

Bond had to laugh. “I’m rather curious as to how you managed to snag him,” he replied. “Did it involve some webcam action, at least?”

“I’m not at liberty to say more,” said Q maddeningly, “although I do feel a certain sense of satisfaction in bringing him down like that. He was especially horrible to women and was prone to underestimating them.”

“His weakness,” said Bond, who rather understood such weaknesses.

“Anyway, the French could only give him that amount of time in prison, and afterward he managed to slip under the radar once again,” said Q. “Until now. We still have to verify from whatever meager evidence we’ve managed to glean, but…it would appear that he’s part of a bigger terrorist organization now. He may even be its Quartermaster.”

“He’s entered double-O territory, then,” said Bond.

“He already has,” said Q grimly. “Look what he did to 003. Don’t underestimate him, Bond.”

“I won’t,” promised Bond. “And we’ve got a score to settle for Emily.”

“I haven’t managed to latch onto him yet online,” said Q, “but if I can just break Campbell, we might end up getting two birds with one stone.”

“You’ll get him.”

“Would to god it were now,” said Q with gritted teeth as he slid off Bond’s lap. In another minute, he was back in front of his computers, working furiously, all but forgetting Bond as he sat across from him.

* * *

It was nearly three in the morning of the next day when Q managed to crack Campbell. Bond knew as soon as Q came to bed and started kissing him awake.

“You got him then,” said Bond, voice hoarse from sleep and pride in equal measure as he watched that beautiful smile spread across Q’s face in the warm lamplight.

“Yes,” Q said simply.

“Congratulations,” Bond said as he moved to kiss him deeply.

“We still have some loose ends to tie up in the morning but I’ve already informed M and he’s started moving,” said Q. “And now—”

“You need to sleep.”

“Forget sleep,” objected Q. “I need you to fuck me. Please.”

“Q—”

“Any. Way. You. Want,” said Q as he raised an eyebrow at him. “It starts now, James.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Notes:** Oh, my lord!! Here's the final chapter...of part 1!! (evil laugh) Aaand there will be more cause for evil laughter at the end of the chapter, as you shall all see!! Seriously though, my big thanks to everyone for reading and sending in all the comments and kudos! You guys are the reason why this story got to have an ending, the Muse being notorious for WIPs that could stretch years. You've driven her to stretch herself in so many delightful ways. With special thanks to **starrysummernights--**  who offered so many great suggestions and ways to flesh out earlier details in the story-- forone of the scenes written here. You know which one it is, my dear!

So please read on and enjoy! What a ride it has been! Do send me a message and let me know what you think. A second part is on the works so I'd appreciate all the feedback. And THANK YOU SO MUCH once again!

* * *

 “Any. Way. You. Want,” said Q. “It starts now, James.”

Bond smiled. “I like it when you’re aggressive and direct,” he said as he made to pin Q down on the bed, hands capturing Q’s wrists above his head. “Does this happen all the time after a mission?”

“Only the successful ones, of course,” replied Q. “Now, enough talk. Kiss me.”

“Yes, sir,” growled James as he slanted his mouth against Q’s.

Q responded enthusiastically, his kisses ardent and sloppy. He seemed to melt beneath Bond, now that the adrenaline edge was wearing off after his long wait for Campbell. Bond could sense that no matter how hard he was trying to stave off the fatigue, Q was slipping away gradually and Bond slowed the kisses down to chaste, little touches of the lips.

“More,” Q protested drowsily and James merely laughed as he planted the same light kisses down his throat.

“Dammit, Bond,” grumbled Q, his normally crisp words melting together in a soft slur. “Why wait?”

“Because I want you to feel every ounce of pleasure I’m capable of giving you, love,” said Bond, his tone low and rough. “I want you to feel every bit of me when I slide inside you, when I take you as hard as you’ll allow me, when I finally, inextricably become a part of you. I want you aching for it, begging me for it.”

Bond watched Q who gave him a long, slow blink, the normally bright green gaze dimmed, and Bond could not help the smile in his voice as he continued, “and for all of that, I need you to be wide awake and fully conscious.”

“Not fair. We need…to…” murmured Q, yawning. He was losing the fight fast, his eyes drifting closed as he slid off sweetly into sleep.

Bond laughed softly as he gazed at Q sprawled before him, still fully dressed. He could not resist running gentle fingers through the thick, wild hair. Trust the man to drift off mid-sentence, his kiss-swollen mouth still slightly open as though he could will one more word out of himself despite his overwhelming exhaustion.

Bond leaned down to kiss him, murmuring, “sleep, my darling. You’re going to need it. That I promise.”

* * *

By 9 am the next day, Q was still out of it, and Bond did not have the heart to wake him, not even for an online call from M. Standing inside the study, he stared for a moment at Q’s open laptop, at the insistent ringing signaling an incoming call from Six’s secure channels. Then he picked up.

M was busy scrawling a note, eyes down on his desk as he said, “Q, we need to--”

“Morning, sir,” Bond said smoothly, a hint of a drawl in his voice.

M looked up. “007,” he said, doing a good job at maintaining a poker face. “Good morning.”

“Q is still asleep, sir,” said Bond, smiling slightly. “Of course, if you need me to wake him…”

M stared at him for a moment and Bond knew the man was no fool. He could see him putting two and two together before M replied, voice still calm, albeit with an exasperated eye roll in his tone, as though he’d fully expected this to happen: “there is no need. Let him rest. He’s earned it. Although at some point I suspect that I will need to sit down with the two of you and discuss certain… things, but that will have to wait. Campbell is now in custody and we’re narrowing down on the other one. Although the target is very likely abroad, it would be necessary to weed out the local cell that carried out his orders to bomb Q’s residence. No doubt, you’ll be seeing some action soon, 007.”

“Looking forward to it, sir.”

M leaned forward on the screen. “I cannot over-emphasize the importance of keeping Q safe,” he reminded Bond, “but for this particular assignment, he may need to be more hands-on and visible than usual in order to lure the target out of hiding.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Good,” replied M. “I’ve approved of Q’s proposal and he is in charge of this mission. He will brief you on the details as soon as he is able.”

“Understood, sir.”

"Is there anything on your end that you need to report?" M asked.

"None, sir."

"Carry on, then, 007."

M ended the call and Bond looked up to see Q leaning against the doorway, hair still mussed and shaking his head sheepishly. “You should have called me, Bond,” he said, not so much in reproach than in resignation.

“You needed the sleep,” Bond pointed out.

For a moment, Q looked as though he might broach the subject of his falling asleep in the middle of their snogging, but then he said dryly, “You could have just ignored his call. It was unscheduled, after all. By taking over my laptop, you just can’t resist showing off just a bit to M, can you?”

Bond smiled. “You’re right,” he said. “I can’t help puffing up just a bit where you’re concerned, and you know how it is between M and me.”

“And you know how it is between myself and M,” said Q reasonably, “he’s our boss, for goodness’ sake. Don’t tell me you’re _jealous_ of him?”

There was a moment of thunderstruck silence before Q muttered, amused, “oh my god. You _are.”_

An actual giggle escaped Q as he stared at a nonplussed Bond. “But that’s so ridiculous, Bond.”

Bond cleared his throat. “Well. I don’t appreciate his ordering you about in that manner of his. I know for a fact that he threatened to take the loss of the DB10 out of your pay.”

“Well then, maybe that can induce you to be more careful with the equipment and not land them at the bottom of the Tiber,” sighed Q. “The fact is, you don’t appreciate anyone ordering you about in that manner of theirs. Except perhaps the former M.”

“It’s not as if he had anything important to say at the moment,” argued Bond as he stood up and made to approach Q, “and what he had to say I already know.”

“Which is?” prompted Q as Bond closed in. He turned his head a fraction just as Bond swooped in for a kiss, suddenly shy. He'd not brushed his teeth yet.

“Protecting you at all cost,” replied Bond as he effortlessly dovetailed with Q’s movements to place a kiss lightly on his lips. “Among other things.”

“Does it also include bundling me off to bed and having me sleep on you just when things were getting interesting between us?” inquired Q.

“Yes, that too,” said Bond, his voice fond. “Though I must admit I’ve not had anyone sleep on me like that before. But I shall insist on it, when it comes to you.”

“Hmm,” murmured Q, smiling mischievously as he eyed Bond up close. “We’ll have to work on those _other things_ as my way of making it up to you.”

“Yes, we do,” said Bond, his answering smile quite feral. “But first, some breakfast.”

“All right,” said Q as he trailed after Bond. “I have to feed the cats first though. Have you even seen them? Or Rufus, for that matter?”

“Here,” said Bond after briefly scanning the kitchen and living room. “And you bloody won’t believe this.”

“Oh.” Q stopped short at the sight of dog and cats curled up in a corner of the living room, partially hidden by the sofa. Rufus, tail wagging, was doing his best to keep still as Asi eeled around him and le Carré was busy giving him a tongue bath.

“Took him long enough to win them over,” said Bond, amused.

“How did you even know they’d warm up to him?” asked Q. “Oh. Oh, _no.”_

Just then le Carré gave Rufus an ungentle bat of her paw as he caught the humans staring and made to get up. He obediently subsided once again in a golden heap right beside le Carré.

“It was a gamble, of course. Yet who would have thought that all she needed was someone to take care of,” murmured Bond.

“All this time, I never realized as well,” agreed Q. “It does make you wonder.”

He turned to catch Bond gazing at him, the expression flitting through his blue eyes and his hard face complex.

“Is it so wrong to want to take care of someone?” Bond asked.

“Of course not,” said Q softly.

“Then it should be alright to let go, too,” said Bond. “Every once in a while. Or more than once in a while. Nowadays they make it sound like a shortcoming or a defect. It’s even considered shameful to want such a thing, to ask for it. But I’m asking anyway. Will you let me take care of you?”

Q could feel himself flushing.

 _This man_ , he thought. This man had a discomfiting habit of being able to read him so thoroughly. Yet Q found it thrilling as much as alarming to realize just how much it cost Bond to say out loud what they both felt.

“Will you let me do the same?” he found himself asking.

A corner of Bond’s lips tilted up. “You already do,” he said. “You take such good care of me everyday when I’m in the field.”

“What I want is rather…complicated,” Q said, slightly embarrassed. “It isn’t something that’s…casually shared.”

“Let me,” Bond merely repeated.

“Of course,” said Q, looking away. “I want everything you promised earlier. I just…don’t go running for the hills afterward, that’s all.”

Bond’s smile widened. “Try me,” he said.

* * *

Waiting for nightfall was out of the question.

Bond made Q undress before him, slowly, in broad daylight. So slowly, like his own private striptease show. He enjoyed seeing the delicate flush spreading from Q’s face to his neck, his chest. He touched the warm, pale skin newly revealed with his hands, his lips. He smiled as he heard Q sigh, felt that lithe body sway against him.

“James.”

He could never get enough of the way Q said his name.“Yes, Q?”

A hint of a smile in that dear voice: “I need to prepare.”

Bond straightened up. “Of course,” he said. “Let’s—”

“By myself,” said Q as he raised an eyebrow at him, and Bond was suddenly reminded of how different it was to actually bed a man; the private, careful preparations it entailed.

Q leaned over to kiss him. “I won’t take long,” he said before he stepped into the bathroom and shut the door.

It left Bond time to undress, and it was far too much time. He sat in bed and tried to relax, alternating between amusement and exasperation at himself for feeling like this. So far he’d only ever fallen in love with women, and while he’d had male lovers and had taken his pleasure with them, he worried whether he was what Q was looking for.

It was so unlike him to be so excited and nervous.

He wanted to tell Q that he understood him completely. He knew what it felt like after missions when the highs got too high and the mind just could not shut off after the massive adrenaline bout; when things got too tight and one felt like clawing out of the cage of one’s skin. He knew how it was when all one needed was the ability to _not think_ for a while; the desire to surrender all control to another and just feel, and _feel._

He’d never given himself to anyone entirely but he’d give Q everything he wanted, needed, and more. He’d be his everything, if Q was willing to accept him. He’d fuck Q out of his mind.

But perhaps Q had already slept the edge off and was past this stage? Bond knew what came next after the mad lust went unfulfilled: the black void of depression that would grip him when he’d not managed to bed anyone during the high.

Yet when the bathroom door opened and Q stepped outside, naked and aroused, it was clear to Bond that he’d been over-thinking. Everything slipped away and instinct took over as he watched Q take out the things from the drawer. He stretched out a hand to pull Q into bed, their mouths meeting in an open, feral kiss.

“Don’t be gentle,” warned Q as he angled his head to crush Bond’s mouth harder against his own, as though he would devour him.

Bond laughed. “I won’t,” he promised.

He flipped Q down and stretched himself over him. “Have you ever done this— play with your toy with anyone?”

Q shook his head. “Not in the past two years since becoming Quartermaster, no,” he murmured. “The security checks on a prospective partner would have been horrendous. That was when I decided to buy that toy for my solitary pleasure. Besides…”

Bond cocked his head as Q trailed off, urging him to go on with a raised brow.

Q laughed softly. “Besides, I was rather in love with someone who was quite oblivious to my entire predicament.”

“Were you now?” asked Bond in a low, pleased voice. “I’m sorry he was rather clueless.”

“Oh, I’m sure he had other, far more interesting fish to catch,” Q answered, smiling slightly as he gazed at Bond. “Frankly, I’m still in disbelief at the recent turn of events.”

“He’s been in love with you all this time himself and he’s only managed to come to his senses,” muttered Bond, “and not a moment sooner. What to do with such appalling blindness?”

“We forgive, of course,” said Q briskly. “Now can we proceed to the fucking, please?”

“Cheeky little minx, aren’t we?” Bond grinned. “So tell me how you do it.”

“Bond,” admonished Q. “I’d rather you discover it for yourself.”

“I will,” promised Bond as he ran a hand lightly down Q’s neck to his chest. “Do you do it after our missions together, when I’m safely on my way home and you’re back at your place with the night stretched ahead of you and nothing to occupy you for a few hours?”

Bond felt Q freeze a bit beneath him. “Maybe,” Q murmured, his tone suddenly cautious.

“Not maybe,” said Bond as something occurred to him. “That time at your place when we were getting ready to go and you wouldn’t budge from your computer. What was so important that you had to do it then and there? You wouldn’t even look at me when I teased you about deleting your porn. It was porn, wasn’t it? My porn.”

“We’re not discussing this,” Q said, his voice tight.

“Just hear me out,” said Bond as Q made to push him away. “You got files on me, didn’t you? Little snippets of my missions where I was having sex with our marks that you’ve managed to save. Did they keep you company on the nights you had to use that toy? Which one was your favorite?”

“Fuck you, Bond,” said Q, humiliated.

“Did you know that during each of those missions, at the back of my mind, I was imagining making love to you?” whispered Bond. “I had you in mind at least for a while now, spread beneath me just like this.”

Q was stiff for a moment more before he subsided against Bond. “You’re really fucking arrogant, aren’t you, Bond?”

“And you love me, anyway,” replied Bond, smiling.

Q continued to gaze at him flatly for a moment more before he said, “that time with the double agent that you rendezvoused with in Morocco. That was my favorite wank material.”

“Good choice,” said Bond, smile widening into a wolfish grin, “though what I did with him will pale in comparison to what we’re going to do now.”

“Oh, fuck,” muttered Q, as Bond ran teasing fingertips down his nipples, followed closely by open lips and a warm, wet tongue. He bucked against Bond as ungentle hands clamped around his hips, turning him over.

“That’s it, love,” said Bond as he made to turn Q on to his stomach, hands drifting down to clutch at the firm flesh of his buttocks and spreading them apart.

 _“Ahh, fuuuck.”_ Q turned to bury his face against a pillow as he felt Bond’s pointed tongue against the rim of muscle, still tightly closed. Slowly, inexorably, Bond coaxed him to relax and open up, fingers gliding up and down over the sensitive skin of his scrotum to encourage him.

“More,” gasped Q as he reached down to touch himself, only for Bond to sweep his hand away.

“No,” said Bond. “I’m supposed to take care of you, remember? All you have to do is lie back and enjoy it. Now, tell me, how many fingers do you usually start with?”

“Two,” muttered Q before he hissed in a breath as he felt a lubed finger, thicker than his own, teasing his entrance before sliding in.

“Beautiful,” murmured Bond as he felt Q’s flesh closing in a tight grip against his. “Look how well you’re taking me, Q.”

“More, please,” Q breathed, eyes shutting tight as he felt that sturdy finger working steadily in and out of him. He sucked in a breath as the finger withdrew, to be replaced by the added girth and firmness of two digits. He jerked in surprise as the fingers coiled inside him, a moan erupting from his lips as Bond brushed against his prostate.

“There. Oh, there,” he moaned as he gave himself up to the relentless, heavenly pressure of those fingers as they pleased him.

“Fuck,” Bond muttered. “You feel so fucking beautiful.”

“I want to see you, James,” Q implored.

He gave a soft, protesting mewl as Bond pulled out of him slowly before turning him over.

“This?” Bond inquired as he held up the toy for closer inspection. It even had its own tiny remote control.

“Standard issue,” said Q, “before I altered it to my own specifications.”

“Unsurprising,” replied Bond with a smile as Q got the lube and managed to drizzle a generous amount on the thing before he guided Bond’s hand to his arse. He watched, almost mesmerized as Bond teased his entrance with the firm, flesh-like tip before slipping it in almost entirely.

From there, it was easy to give way to the blissful wave of sensations, but Q stubbornly held on, concentrating on Bond as he turned the switch on, as he slowly accelerated the movements, following Q’s murmured instructions.

At the sudden change in tempo, Q threw back his head, lips parting around a sharp gasp as he writhed deliciously against the sheets. It was, thought Bond, one of the most gorgeous things he’d ever seen.

He bent down to suck at a hard nipple and was rewarded with a small shout and a buck of that pale, lithe body beneath him. He watched as Q gradually gave it up, an open, wrecked expression on that normally impassive face. He felt long, graceful arms twining around him as he licked downward, down the flat, trembling belly, tonguing at the deep slash of Q’s navel. He felt hard fingers in his hair, silently demanding, as he ran the flat of his tongue against the entire length of the underside of Q’s erection.

“Please,” grated Q, but Bond demurred.

“We’re not yet done,” said Bond, “not until I’m inside you.”

He felt those fingers fist into his hair and he laughed softly. “Such impatience, Q,” he remarked.

“I’m coming,” Q said, breathing harsh, almost panting as his body tightened, arching. _“Oh god, James.”_

“That won’t do,” said Bond as he quickly sat up to turn off the vibrator. He watched as Q suddenly deflated beneath him. He could not help but feel the intense satisfaction of having this man, loving him. He was fucking _adorable._

Like this, Q looked ravished, and entirely ravishing. He lay there, spread beneath Bond, breath coming quickly, body languid but unspent and aching for release, glasses slightly askew over lust-clouded eyes, his face wide open for anyone to read: bliss warring with the still-unfulfilled need to be taken and made whole. He winced, a soft whimper edging past his throat as Bond eased the toy out of him. It was time.

“James,” Q murmured as Bond moved to kiss him hungrily, aligning himself so that his sheathed and lubricated cock nudged at Q’s entrance at last. As he slid in, Bond watched Q as his mouth dropped softly open, taking in the emotions running through Q’s features, his eyes: desire and urgency, and a need that was naked and almost painful to behold in its desperate honesty.

Q's acceptance of him in body and soul was so unbearably intimate that Bond finally understood what Q meant when he said this was not meant to be shared casually. If Bond could have his way, he would ensure nobody else got to share this with Q at all.  

 _Mine,_ Bond’s gaze declared.

 _Yours_ , Q’s eyes agreed. _All yours._

 _“James,”_ gritted Q as Bond began to thrust, sliding in deep and withdrawing almost all the way out before plunging back in.

Bond did not waste time. Their rhythm was long, ragged, and rough, filled with shocked intakes of breath and pained groans. It was bloody _perfect._

Almost too soon, Q set his mouth to Bond’s ear and whispered hoarsely, “Oh, fuck, James…can’t hold on…”

“Come,” urged Bond as he continued to thrust deeply, relentlessly, into Q’s tight, welcoming warmth. “Take me. Take what you need. It’s all yours.”

 _“Nooo,”_ breathed Q, trying to draw out the moment as his head hit the pillow, body helplessly arching in a tight bow. “Not yet. I…”

“Do it,” said Bond. “Fall. I’m here to catch you.”

And with a long drawn-out cry, Q leapt off the brink. Bond let himself go as well, giving in to blessed release as they shuddered and moaned, clinging tightly to each other as they rode out their fiery release, as they squeezed every bit of delight from the moment until the last of the tremors finally died away, leaving them slumped against each other, exhausted, tangled together in a mess of limbs.

Touchingly enough, the first sound to leave Q was a quiet giggle, and Bond could not help but laugh.

“That was bloody brilliant,” Q said breathlessly. He looked happy, glutted with pleasure.

“Agreed,” said Bond as he propped himself on an elbow, head resting on the palm of one hand as he leaned down to kiss Q. “Why we managed to get here only now, I have no idea.”

Then, more quietly, he said, "thank you, Q, for deeming me worthy."

“Thank _you_ , James,” said Q as he snuck in closer to rest his head on Bond’s shoulder, one hand over Bond’s heart. He savored the feel of his lover’s thunderous heartbeat underneath his fingertips. "And also, we're such idiots."

“We’ll need to rectify that,” said Bond.

“I thought we already did.”

“Well, clearly we need to do so one more time,” said Bond in all seriousness, “as soon as we’re up to it. It’s quite imperative.”

“I won’t mind that,” said Q, smiling as he looked up at Bond, “though I ought to check something first, see if one of the lines I’ve set up online has caught something. The big one, hopefully.”

“The sooner we get the bastard the better,” said Bond.

“He won’t stop until he has me,” said Q. “I’m thinking of setting up a trap for him, with myself as bait.”

“Q—”

“I’m not afraid,” said Q, “not when I have you with me.”

Bond raised Q’s hand and kissed it. “I’m not letting him get to you,” he said. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“We’ll keep each other safe,” promised Q as Bond kissed his fingertips. When he got to Q’s ring, he kissed it, too.

“I shall miss it, once it's time to be removed,” said Q with a sigh, watching Bond eye the golden band speculatively. He was still holding Q’s hand. “I hope you’ll let me keep it though. As a little souvenir of our time here.”

Bond was silent for a moment, before he said gruffly, “or we can opt to just keep the rings on.”

“What?” said Q, startled. “Why?”

“I’ve tried,” Bond said, not looking at Q. “I’ve tried with Vesper, with Madeleine. You know that. Every chance I got, I’ve tried settling down with someone. Fate wouldn’t have it, of course. Not with them, anyway. But with you…you have a habit of beating Fate at her game. Just like me.”

Q stared at him, eyes wide. “Christ, Bond. What are you saying?”

“What if we…” Here, Bond cleared his throat. “I was just thinking. About what the rings stand for. What if we make it real this time?”

Q gaped at him as Bond’s meaning sank in fully. “Wait. You— you’re proposing?” he said incredulously. “To _me?!”_

“And if I am,” said Bond, somewhat defensively, eyeing Q with fond misgiving. “Problem?”

* * *

 **More Author's Notes:** And that's it for now, folks! Please follow me on [tumblr](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/) and send the Muse some love there, to make her churn out part 2 more quickly! XD

And of course, that scene with Rufus and le Carré was patterned after this:

 


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